


The Ties That Bite

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [6]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyone remember the favor Leo owes that one Lilim of Lust? Because she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which A Calabite, A Kyriotate, And An Ethereal Walk Into A Bar

I stroll up and prop my elbows on the filthy bar, which I can live with because my jacket is equally filthy. "Do you carry any _good_ beer? Something other than the domestic brands that spend more on advertising than brewing. Because I'm not looking to have a large-breasted woman jump out of the bottle and drape herself over me, just a good drink."

The bartender looks up from where he's been dealing with something under the bar, and stares at me blankly. "We're closed," he says, and then, as realization dawns, "How did you get in here?" He reaches for whatever weapon he keeps hidden back there. I give it a 70% chance of being a firearm, and a 30% something like a bat or crowbar, given the location of this bar and local gun laws. 

"Picked the lock on the back door. You ought to get better security for this place. And have you even installed batteries in that fire alarm? The building could go up in flames if you're not careful." It would appear this man's 30% is a wooden baseball bat, dented and scratched from use. I grin at him as he's swinging, and throw a blast of my own personal entropy field at the bat. His fist swings by a foot away from my face, holding nothing but the splinters that haven't fallen to the floor. "Is that the best you can offer?"

This is the fun part about intimidating Hellsworn: a human that's worked for Hell long enough to get a list of the Bands will assume any Calabite they meet is a pent-up ball of fury, just waiting to slam someone through a wall. I'm probably not as strong as this human, but _he_ has no way of knowing that. The man cowers back. "What do you want?"

"Papers," I say, and lean forward with a charming smile. "You know the ones I'm talking about. Now, before you say, oh no, if I give those up she'll _kill_ me, how about you take a few minutes to consider what I'll do if you don't? Take your time. And get me a decent beer."

The bartender has Guinness on tap, which qualifies. "She'll tear apart my soul," he mumbles, while I sip my drink. "If I betray her. I know she can."

"Don't be stupid. Demons say that, but do you think she's going to bother tracking down your soul once you get to Hell? Now," I say, still with the smile, "you have a few options." I raise fingers to count them off, speaking between sips. "First. You can not show me those papers, in which case you end up uncomfortably dead, followed by me getting them anyway. Your master's unlikely to care if you held out or not. Second. You can show me the papers, run to tell her as soon as I'm gone, and take your chances on how she'll react. Third. You show me the papers, and disappear before she finds out. Maybe you'll get far enough away that she can't catch up with you before _her_ masters have a little chat with her about security. I'm all for door number three, but it's your choice."

"I can't open the safe," he says, finally. "I don't know the combination."

"You think I can't work around it?" I check my watch. It stopped cold three hours ago, after two days of displaying random numbers, but it's a good theatrical gesture. "I'm running out of patience, so I'd recommend you make up your mind."

He chooses the better part of valor, and shows me the safe.

Ferro finally wanders into the storage room while I'm contemplating the thickness of the safe. It probably got distracted by a fuse box again. "Clever," it says, and crouches down by the safe, while the bartender backs away nervously. Ferro makes people nervous just by walking into the room. The ethereal chose its vessel with all the sensibility of someone who thinks of humans from an alien, disinterested perspective: androgynous, wiry, and sharp-featured, with sharp black fingernails that look more like claws than painted nails. "Can I have a try?"

"Go for it," I say, and lean against the wall to watch the human and drink my beer while Ferro starts twirling and listening.

"Ah," says the ethereal, and digs its fingernails into one part of the lock. "Like _that_." It yanks the safe open, and grins up at me with sharp teeth. "Not bad for a first try."

"Yeah, we're all in awe of your safe-cracking skills, Fer." I shut up as Nik scrambles out of my pocket to sit on my shoulder and chatter anxiously into my ear. While the Kyriotate can't do much with mouse vocal chords, I get the worried tone. "We have everything. Let's go." I empty the safe into the messenger bag Ferro carries, leaving half of the bundles of cash, and nothing else. "And you? Might want to ditch. I think someone's showing up early tonight." I toss a handful of the remaining bundles toward him. "Decide if you want to look like you were robbing your boss, or like you _already_ robbed your boss and disappeared into the night."

The human grabs the cash, and runs for the stairs. I'm only a few steps behind, with Ferro bringing up the rear while Nik squeaks on my shoulder. "Keys," I tell the bartender, before he can open the back door. "You can afford to catch a cab."

He pulls out a ring of keys without argument. Ferro snatches them from the man's hand, and closes its eyes for an instant. "That way," it says, and points to the front door, so we leave in opposite directions from the mortal. Nik doesn't throw a fit; whoever's coming isn't heading for the front door.

The three of us pile out into the street, Nik scurrying into the chest pocket of my jacket to give directions from there now that we're in the cold night air. Ferro strides down the sidewalk in the serene confidence of a Vehicles-strand ethereal with a new set of car keys.

Nik meets us at the car, in the body of a bag lady. "She's on the paralle street," Nik says, "but almost to the bar, and there's no telling which side she'll appear once she finds the human missing."

"So get in the car, stupid," Ferro says, brushing snow off the windshield. "It's unlocked. It will remain unlocked until I start the engine. It locks automatically when the engine starts, which is a foolish design choice."

"You don't have to go on about it," Nik mutters, and climbs into the back seat. In the mouse host, she drops fully inside my pocket where it's warmer. I get into the front seat, and wait for Ferro to take the wheel.

"Oh," Nik says, abruptly. "That was faster than I expected. She's in the bar now. Can we _go_?"

"Always such a hurry," Ferro says, and climbs into the driver's seat. It inserts the appropriate key, and purrs, like well-oiled gears turning. "Not a bad car. Old, but cared for. Regular oil changes." We pull away from the curb smoothly, Ferro as adept as ever at the wheel. "What's in the glove box?"

I yank the glove box open for Nik to poke through in her mouse host, and start sorting through the bag. "I don't get why you care." The money goes in my pockets, small valuables back in the bag, and the papers onto my lap. "You don't understand humans, and it doesn't have any bearing on how the car handles."

"But it's interesting," Ferro says, while Nik reports from the back seat what she's seeing from the mouse. Receipts for car maintenance, dead pens, a candy bar wrapper, the standard junk. Meanwhile, I take sort through the papers and find out if we got our target.

Several sheets of financial documents down, I hit the jackpot. It's not only written in Helltongue, it's in a cipher I can't parse, though I could work it out with a little time. "Looks like we'll make our deadline after all. Nik, anyone tailing us?"

"Not that I can see," she says, and sorts through the possessions of her odiferous human host. "Can we stop at a restaurant after delivery? And maybe a thrift store. I'd like to ditch some of this clothing for cleaner, warmer, less infested versions."

"If we have the time," I say, and separate out the documents into three stacks of irrelevant, potentially useful, and what we're being paid for. "Depends on whether or not we make the rendezvous in time. Ferro?"

"Traffic laws are there to be obeyed," it says, coming to a full and complete stop at a sign. "But we should make it in time. Nik, is anyone following us?"

"I just told Leo, no," Nik snaps, and slouches back in the seat in her human host as she stows the mouse-host in my pocket again. "Some other cars move in the same direction, but from up above? No one following us."

"Are you still keeping watch on the bar?" I put the papers back in Ferro's bag. "How many hosts do you have right now?"

"No one else has come out of it yet. And for hosts, only the three. It's harder to find small birds during the winter. Unless you want me to try to be inconspicuous with a Canada goose." Nik strips off old gloves, and eyes her fingernails critically. "We ought to start raising pigeons."

"I'm not sure those are as portable as mice." I tilt the seat back, and wish I'd thought to bring the beer with me. "Maybe bats. Best of both worlds. But those are harder to raise in captivity. And how would I explain a bat on the shoulder?"

Ferro turns to blink at me, at a red light. "Doesn't everyone like bats?"

"...no. Not everyone."

It frowns, turning back to watch the light with all the intensity of a hunter stalking prey. "Humans are strange."

"You can say that again." I scoop Nik out of my pocket. "Weigh in, Nik. Question of the night. Humans: strange, or not strange?"

"Smelly," she says, from the back seat. "But I like them. Better when they remember to bathe. We _are_ getting to a restaurant after this, right? A drive-through would be fine. I don't think anything else would be open at this time of night."

"Just as soon as we're done." I set Nik on my shoulder, as Ferro drives up to the top level of the parking garage. "We wouldn't want to annoy our esteemed client, would we?"

"I don't know," Nik says. "Can I think about that one and get back to you?"

Ferro parks. I grab the messenger bag, step out of the car, walk across the lot to the opposite end. Snappy black business suit, briefcase, and a subdued red tie, all wrapped around a vessel that looks more like a disaffected college student than a businessman: Sean waits by the wall, wind mussing his hair. I stroll up to him, and grin. "Let me guess. You've been hanging out with Trade again."

"Better yet," Sean says. "I have a note." He passes me the folded paper, expression vaguely annoyed, as seems typical for our meetings. "This time, did you get what we asked for?"

"Couldn't say." I yank the papers out of the bag, and hold them out while the Mercurian opens his briefcase. "Helltongue, a cipher I don't recognize. Maybe you got lucky this time. If you want a translation--"

"We have our own people to handle that." We swap, the papers I dug up for his note, and I unfold it while he's arranging things in his briefcase. The paper reads:

_The Mercurian who says he will be giving this to you also claims that the next contract he presents you with is offered without intention to deceive or, in his words, 'break his part of the deal.' In saying so, he believes he speaks the truth._

The signature's in angelic script, but I recognize it by now. My old not-quite-friend Penny. When a Seraph of Trade vouches for the contract, that's good enough for me. I crumple the paper in my hands, dissolve it in a wash of entropy. "So you have something else for me?"

"Long-term project," Sean says. He sets the briefcase down, hands me a PDA. "Details on there. You can work on this one between other jobs. Interested?"

"Give me a minute to look over it." I lean against the wall beside Sean, while Nik makes faces at him from my shoulder.

"Why do I get the feeling the Domination doesn't like me?" Sean says, waiting as patiently as he ever does, which is to say he checks his watch twice a minute. Poor guy doesn't want to be caught in company like this. If it's not the Renegade demon, it's the Outcast angel... We're not good influences. 

"Can't imagine why." I scroll through the details of the project, and my goodness but there are a lot of details. "The two of you should bond over mutual dislike for Judgment." Nik squeaks angrily on my shoulder. "Or not. What's the deal with this, Sean?" I hand the PDA back to him, fold my arms. "You've had me play at working for Theft, dig up half a dozen types of information or provide an intimidating presence at the right time, all the kind of work appropriate for your friendly local Calabite, and now you want me to...design you a delicatessen?"

"You did notice the whole section on--"

"What you want underneath, yes. And the restrictions on materials. And what you want it to be able to stand up against. So I have exactly one question for you. Why are you asking _me_ to design this for you, instead of Stone?"

Sean smiles nicely. It's nearly as good as my charming smile. "Are you telling me you can't do it?"

"Every building I've ever designed in my short-lived architectural career was a shaky fire-trap."

"But on _purpose_ ," Sean says. "You know more about what could set a place on fire--and how to encourage or avoid it--than your average architect."

So working for Fire gave me a few useful bits of information. "I repeat, why not Stone? They have _history_ as architects. Half the Mercurians in that Word have been architects longer than I've been alive."

"Nice people," Sean says. "A little weird about that issue of hitting first, but nice people. Lots of pleasant, friendly Mercurians of Stone out there who'd be happy to help. Ones who are used to keeping secrets, even." He spreads his hands. "And let's be honest, I'd rather work with them."

"I'd say the feeling is mutual. I mean, they're less likely to shoot me."

Sean chuckles. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope. Though I haven't figured out if you're more embarrassed at making the attempt, or at not connecting with it." I scoop Nik off my shoulder to let her settle into my palm. "So you'd rather let some demon know about this design than good old Stone? I know my building design, but I'm no genius. What's your angle on this?"

"What, your mighty brain can't work it out? I'm disappointed in you, Leo. You're supposed to be a step ahead of me."

Nik's a warm weight in my hand, glaring out at the Mercurian. "And that," I say, "is what bugs me about this job."

Sean shrugs. "Truth be told, I don't know. Which is for the best. What I don't know, I'm unlikely to give away to a Seraph who asks the wrong question. But what's important on this one, Leo, is the payoff. Now." He makes the PDA disappear into his pocket. "If this information is what we're looking for, you'll get paid the usual way. As for this other job, if you can deliver something that fits the requirements within three months..." This smile is toothier, the kind that reminds me he's not just a Mercurian, he's a Mercurian of _War_. "Then maybe we can get that Discord stripped."

"Maybe doesn't pay the bills, Sean." Nor does "maybe" give me the choice of killing people. Hell, I'd settle for being able to stand there while someone else does the killing, which is currently not an option with this Discord. "What kind of chances are we talking about?"

"What we're talking about is the fact that my impressions and beliefs are no guarantee of what an Archangel decides to do. Get this done, and I will do the best I can." Sean takes a breath, lets out a foggy hiss of warmer air into the cold night. "It's a weird arrangement. Whatever precedent there is, I'm not cleared for the details. But you've kept to your end of the contracts. So. Three months from now, maybe you'll have something to show me, maybe you won't. We can work it out from there."

"You call this a contract? Penny would have a fit. Talk about undefined terms." Nik squeaks along indignantly in my hand. "Three months? I'll see if I get around to it."

"I know that means you'll do it," Sean says. "God alone knows how you acquired it, but you appear to have a work ethic. Try not to get killed in the meantime. It would mess up my schedule."

"As always, your concern is touching." I put Nik back in my pocket, and leave my hands there where they're warmer. "Shall we get in some taunting, or call it a night?"

"I didn't hear any gunshots," Sean says. "Can't have been much of a night." He picks up his briefcase, and waves me away. "I'll give you five minutes before heading home. You might want to be away from the disturbance."

"You jump straight back just to taunt me about the Bound thing, don't you?" I stride across the parking lot before he can respond, wind whistling away any retort.

Ferro's turned on the radio, and drums its fingers along the dashboard to some jaunty pop number. "We getting paid?" it asks, as I take my seat.

"Depends on whether we delivered the right information or not. They can give me a new lead and raise the price, if they want another run." I adjust the seat. "Let's get back home."

"You think they'll pay? Don't you think they'll take the information and say it was wrong?" Ferro starts the car, switches off the radio. "They aren't to be trusted."

"There are two rules for dealing with angels, assuming you're desperate enough to do so in the first place," I say. "Number one, never believe a Malakite, or get any closer to one than through the sights of a rifle. Number two, get your promises from a Seraph or Trader."

"So we're dealing with a Mercurian of War...why?" Nik asks,from the back seat, chattering along with herself from my pocket.

"The scintillating conversation," I tell her, and close my eyes. "Look on the bright side. We could be trying to deal with Judgment. And no one wants that, right?"

I get no argument.


	2. In Which The Past Does Not Actually Haunt Me, But Does Make A Serious Effort With Its Use Of Chains

Ferro lingers in the garage while Nik and I head upstairs to the studio apartment of the month, complete with two pieces of furniture to make the place look lived in. This month's thrift store finds are a cat-torn couch for plausible deniability about sleeping, and a folding table to hold the mouse cage. I let Nik off there, and then kick back on the couch with a notebook and pencil while she swaps human hosts. By the time I've copied out War's deli specs, she's back inside, wearing the body of one of a local junky. Those are the easiest for a Kyrio to bother at length without making their life worse. "Weird contract," she says. "I don't like the terms. You're really working on a maybe?"

"Much as I hate to admit it, Sean's right. I'd take this job for the novelty alone." I pull my knees up so that she can take a seat on the couch. "What do I have to lose? I design this stuff for fun. Usually without a deli on top. At worst, they get my work for free, and that's not a new development in my career."

"You and me both." Nik leans back against my knees, her legs dangling over the arm of the couch. "Being a celestial has never meant high salaries. Angels serve because it's in our nature, demons serve because of...I don't know. The big sticks?"

"More or less. We didn't stay in line out of the goodness of our hearts. Big sticks, and the occasional, rare, rumored carrot." She turns to rest her chin on folded arms over my knees, staring down at me. I make note of the focus, and set my notebook down. "What's on your mind, Nik?"

"Thinking. About...stuff."

"Can you vague that up for me?" I drop a leg over the side of the couch, and end up with Nik sprawled across my chest. "Go ahead, talk. Fer's not here to listen."

"It's _useful_ , but I wish we didn't have to keep it around," Nik says, still avoiding the subject. "I don't know why asked it along. Ethereals are weird."

"Number one: useful. Number two: did I mention useful?" I ruffle Nik's hair. "Besides, I have a soft spot for small, wandering menaces. So long as Ferro's working for me, it's not wreaking havoc or getting killed." She remains unconvinced, so I reach for the conclusive argument. "Do you want it getting sliced up by Judgment, or forced to working for Nightmares again?"

"No, of course not. It just...weirds me out." Nik rolls onto her back, head resting on my shoulder. So much for getting any preliminary sketches done tonight. "I'm used to angels, I'm used to humans, I'm used to animals. Someone who identifies more with machines than people, no."

"Come on, Nik. What Ferro chooses to do in the garage with a consenting truck is no business of ours."

"Agh! I did _not_ need that mental image." Nik drops off the couch to fiddle with the mouse cage. The Kyriotate is in an odd mood tonight, and I haven't identified the reason yet, which bothers me. "Maybe a Kyriotate of Lightning would identify with it. They can jump into cell phones and radios and...all sorts of handy things."

I sit up, drop the notebook onto the floor. "But you never worked for Lightning."

"No," Nik says. "Maybe then I wouldn't have... I don't know." She takes a seat beside me again, more fidgety tonight than usual. "I miss having a body of my own," she says, staring at the scars on this host's wrists. "A real Role, a constant body, someone who was always me no matter who else I was too. I don't miss having to follow orders without questioning them, that it was _dissonant_ to disagree with what I'd been told to do, but...I miss that body."

"And now you're thinking about how you're not going to get it back."

"Yeah." She wraps one hand in mine. "I'm glad you have a chance at removing your Discord. It's only that this reminded me of what I can't get back." The Kyriotate sighs, curls up on the couch with her head in my lap. "I'm being self-centered again. Don't mind me."

"Hard to ignore you when you're right here. Not that I would." Nik's been pushing in directions I'm not sure I want to go, but I can't afford to lose her. I play nice and she stays with me. "If you wanted to go back to Heaven, I could cope. Don't feel obliged to hang around with a demon and an ethereal when you could go home."

"No," she says firmly. "I'm not going anywhere. If I leave you alone, you'll end up shot in the back or dragged back to Hell."

"Fine. Your choice. But if I'm taking you for granted, smack me upside the head and tell me to stop." The kiss isn't unexpected, and if this host tastes of vodka and cigarettes, it's not worse than the taste of blood I'd get when kissing Regan. When she breaks away, I say, "Is this host--"

"Going to be worse off if I use her body this way? Not in the slightest. I'd be hard pressed to take her life further down that it's already gone." Nik seats herself in my lap, fingers working down the buttons of this frayed shirt I wear. "Humans take such poor care of their own lives. I can't understand it. They only get the _one_. You'd think they'd be more careful. Think through the consequences. Do what's right instead of what's easy or fun or convenient."

"And what about those times when what's right doesn't match up with what's best for taking care of their own lives? What do you expect them to do then?"

Nik sighs into my neck. "Leo," she says, "why do you have to make everything so complicated?"

"Perversity of my nature. I'm discontent and questioning at metaphorical heart. What with the literal Heart having been broken for some time now."

She stands up abruptly. "Timing," Nik mutters, and the door opens, Ferro stepping inside. It gives us each a brief look, then heads into the kitchen area. "I'm going to get this host a shower." Nik disappears into the bathroom.

I pick up my notebook and pencil again. "So how's the car?"

"Nearly out of gas," Ferro says. It pours itself a mug of water, then drains it back down the sink. "Do you know if they dream?"

"Cars? Couldn't say. I'm not the ethereal. Wouldn't you know?"

"Computers dream," Ferro says, pouring itself another mug of water, which follows the former one down the drain. "This I've been told. Stones dream, though it's very slow, and you can't make much of it. Do all the trucks and motorcycles and shiny sports cars of the world dream too? Of endless roads and stop lights, where everyone follows the rules?"

"I couldn't say, Fer. Is that the sort of dream you came from?"

"I don't know. I don't remember. The demons tore off some of my Forces when they caught me." It finally settles on its fourth mug of water, and returns to the main room to stand between couch and card table while drinking slowly. "Why doesn't Nikostratos like me? Is it because angels don't like ethereals? They don't like demons either. But she likes you."

"It's complicated," I say, and wonder how I ended up in charge of this bizarre little group. By being the only one of us who can think matters through from point A to point Z without getting distracted by cars, morality, or weird relationship questions, I'd guess. "I could talk to her about it."

"I don't care," Ferro says. "I'm only curious. She doesn't make sense. You don't make sense. I make sense, but only to myself. I would prefer more things to make sense, the way vehicles do. They have purpose and function, parts that serve these. Simple. Sensible."

"Tell you what, Fer. If I ever figure out the meaning of life, you'll be the first one I tell." I shut up as Nik comes stalking out of the bathroom, damp and naked. "Problem?"

"Possible incoming," she says. "Someone wandering up and down the hallway outside. Looks about fifteen, pretty, dressed like she's selling herself. I wouldn't mention it except she's gone up and down the hall three times now, without knocking." She lets herself out of the cage as the brown mouse. "I'll squeak if she looks aggressive."

"You do that." The bathroom door closes again, and Nik scampers to the door while her fellow mouse occupies itself with the wheel. "Fer, if you don't need anything from me, I'm going to work on the next project."

I get two minutes of work done before Nik's out of the bathroom, cleaner and half-dressed. "She's wandering the hall," the Kyriotate says, in a tone that implies this is my problem. "Mostly this half of the hall. Maybe she's looking for us."

"If so, she's not doing a good job of it." I take the hint, and head over to the peephole to see who's there. "...ah. Right. Looking for me."

"You recognize her?" Nik-the-mouse climbs into my jacket pocket while she frowns from the bathroom doorway, pulling a shirt on again. "Who is she?"

"A Lilim I owe. Which would explain how she found me." I'd guess whatever Erica was using for tracking gave out shortly before the apartment door, and she can't figure out which door to go hammer on at four in the morning. "This could get...interesting."

"What kind of interesting?" Nik strides across the room to fret at me from two hosts at once. "How much do you owe her?"

"Not enough to make me to turn myself in. Enough to be inconvenient, though." I rest my forehead against the door, work through the probabilities. "I'm better off talking to her now. If she can track me down once, she can do it again, and I'd rather get this out of the way when I don't have an urgent deadline."

"I don't like it," Nik says. "Let's deal with her--"

"Nik. You can't kill her. I can't kill her. Fer could, but I couldn't let it. What do you want to do, knock her over the head and drop her into a dumpster? Trust me, an angry Lilim is not an improvement over an annoyed one when a Geas is called in." I give her human host a quick kiss on the nose. "Now stow that host away in the bathroom so that I have backup she doesn't expect if something _does_ come up. Fer? Just...don't say anything."

"As you'd like," replies the ethereal, dropping down on the floor with its knees drawn up under its chin, while Nik takes her junkie body out of sight.

I yank open the door, lean in the doorframe. "Hey, Erica," I say, and smirk at her when she spins around, reaching for the pitiful gun she carries in case of emergencies. For show, she used to tell me, and I could believe that. She's stronger and tougher than I am. "What's a girl like you doing in a neighborhood like this?"

"You know how it goes," she says, recovering promptly to sly smiles. The Lilim stalks down the dingy hallway, hips swaying. "Looking up old friends. Mind if I come in?"

"Why should I mind?" I step inside, leave the door open for her to follow. "I'd offer you something to drink, but since nothing's available..." I gesture vaguely at the room, and close the door. "Want a smoke?"

"You know I don't smoke. Nasty habit." She perches on one arm of the couch, legs crossed. "I'm not sure if this is a step up or down for you, considering what you used to live like. Word on the street says that you're working for Theft. I shouldn't be surprised. From one Calabite Prince to another."

"Is that what they say?" I lean against the closed door, my arms folded. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Erica."

"Are you denying it?" Erica takes in my shrug, and laughs. "I didn't think so. Look, babydoll, I don't care who you work for. I need a little favor, and you owe me one. So how about we go somewhere more comfortable to fix ourselves up with a deal that'll make everyone happy?"

"Does she always talk this much?" Ferro asks, in what it probably meant to be a whisper.

Erica looks over her shoulder, and wrinkles her nose. "The company you keep hasn't improved. What _is_ that?"

"My chauffeur. Fer, meet Erica, and vice versa."

"You do pick the weird ones." Erica rolls her eyes. "So what do you say? We go have a nice chat in a place with actual chairs?"

"Depends. Is this calling in what I owe? Because much as I like you, Erica, I'm not about to do favors for free."

The Lilim scowls at me for an instant, before she's back to her sexy smile. "It depends. I have a Sister who wants to talk to you. If you meet with her, and can come to some sort of equitable arrangement with her, I'll consider your debt paid. If not..." She tosses her hair. "Maybe I'll come up with some other way for you to pay me."

"I'm not comfortable taking this on faith," I say. "I don't know what your Sister's going to want from me, and I have other things to do."

"You are so _difficult_." Erica sighs loudly. "I swear by my nature that so far as I know, this Sister doesn't work for the Game, Fire, the War, or anyone else out to make your life difficult in a personal manner. That enough for you?"

I doubt I'll get anything better out of her. Besides I'm curious. I'm not the sort of person who's in high demand, except from the people who want to kill me and from Heaven, which has a shocking paucity of Calabim. "Good enough. Fer, watch the place while I'm gone." I open the door and let Erica follow. "I assume you're driving."

"Of course," Erica says. "I wouldn't let you anywhere near the wheel of my car."

The aforementioned car turns out to be a little red convertible, with the top down despite the weather. "Cute," I say, because she's obviously waiting for me to comment on it.

"Isn't it just? Picked it up from this used car salesman with a wallet bigger than his dick, and a wife who'd take him for all he's worth if she knew what he's up to on Wednesday nights." Erica pulls out of the guest parking lot. "So what are you up to these days, kitten? Keeping busy with the whole Theft angle?"

"I keep busy." I tilt the seat back, and ignore the cold wind whipping through my hair. "Places to go, people to kill. The usual."

"The new job seems to suit you." She tries to give me surreptitious glances. "You used to be twitchier around me."

"I got over it." Fact is, it's been months since I thought about that Habbalite Seneschal I used to work for, who installed buttons Erica learned to press. That part of my life doesn't feel important now that I've run Renegade. Why should I waste my limited time for dealing with neuroses on someone I haven't seen in years? "Where are we going?"

"Not far. My Sister found a nice quiet place for bargaining." She's uneasy about how I'm reacting; I think she got a little too used to being able to yank my chain. I've never had any fondness for Lust, so I'm happy to let her wonder why.

I've mostly gotten out of the habit of psychoanalyzing myself. A minor in psych back in college gave me terms to apply to my issues, but when you get down to it, I'm a demon, and psychology is designed for humans. I used to say that demons were by nature sociopaths, but I'm not sure it matters. Putting a label on my attitudes doesn't help me deal with them. It's useful when it helps me parse what other people do, but for myself, what's the use? I know I'm screwed up nearly as much as I've been screwed over, and yes, the two are connected. It is what it is.

Erica gives up on conversation after a few more attempts to dig out what I've been doing. I'm happy enough to leave her thinking I'm a Magpie playing it close, and I don't want to ask after her recent exploits. I can imagine that conversation. Blackmailed anyone lately? Oh? How many of--oh, that's a lot. For how much? Really? Impressive. No, I'd rather stay quiet in the cold wind, wishing I'd thought to bring a hat.

We end up in the parking lot of a dark restaurant. I get out of the car, wait for Erica to set a direction. "How inviting."

"Don't be a snob. She's borrowing the place for the night. It's the sort of restaurant you wouldn't be able to afford to eat at anyway." She looks me up and down once. "Well. Maybe _now_. But they wouldn't let you in looking like that."

"Good thing it's not open, then." I slouch against a wall and wait for someone to answer Erica's knock, one hand in the jacket pocket where Nik waits. I'm not sure how much a Kyriotate in a mouse can help me if this goes badly, but company makes me feel better.

"You are _such_ a slob, Leo." The door finally opens, and Erica smiles up at the dark figure there. "Dug him up for you, Sis."

"Charming." This new Lilim has a voice so low I could mistake her vessel for male, but as she moves inside her silhouette in the dim light tells me otherwise. "Come in before anyone sees you."

Inside, I take a seat at the one lit table, lean back with my arms folded. This table's been set with a red and white checked tablecloth, and a glass lantern holding one steady flame. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Feel free," says the new Lilim. She seats herself across from me, taller than I am and far more elegant. "Erica, dear. If you'd give us a little privacy." There's not a hint of request to that order.

"Sure," says the Lustie. I can nearly hear her eyes rolling. "I'll be back in an hour."

The door shuts, and the new Lilim offers me a hand. I take it with the one that's not busy digging a cigarette out of my pocket. "Call me Marie. And you're Leo?"

"That's the name." I take my hand back--she has a strong grip, but not the kind that's trying to prove something--and dig out a lighter from Nik's pocket. "Erica says you want to make a deal. What did you have in mind?"

"I want you to blow up a building," Marie tells me, right to the point. "Erica says you know how."

"Her information's out of date. I'm not in that business anymore." I light my cigarette, drift the red tip across the darkness outside of the lantern light. "Nor do I have access to my previous contacts. I can't pull explosives out of my hat. For some reason, my former employer's current employees feel it's a bad idea to sell to me."

"We can supply you with materials." I wonder who the "we" is in that sentence. I'm thinking not this Lilim and Erica. "What we Need"--I can hear the capital letters in that--"is someone who can place them appropriately, and drop the building cleanly." She taps one fingernail on the table. "I'm told you can."

"Maybe. The disturbance is going to be ridiculous."

"We prefer this be done at night, when the building is empty. No human deaths to add to the noise. Beyond that..." She lifts one shoulder, drops it. "The level of disturbance isn't a factor. We simply wish to have the building destroyed completely with minimal damage to the surrounding area."

I tap ash off into the gleaming pewter ashtray on the table. "How soon? Damage can be contained, and I can destroy any building. Tethers aside; I don't have the staff for that. But I can't prepare this sort of thing overnight, even with all the equipment. Not unless the place is deserted."

"Quickly. By the end of next week, and the sooner the better." Which explains why they're scraping the barrel for demolitions experts. "We can provide you with a contact and funds for equipment, and publicly available blueprints for the building. The rest would be your job."

"As potential contracts go, this is not risk-free. We're not talking about building staffed by mundanes, are we?"

"No. But it's not a Tether," she says. "Are you interested?"

I tap off another length of ash, put one hand into Nik's pocket to feel her response. She's not happy with this, from the gentle nip I get there. "This is a bigger job, and more dangerous, than that Geas Erica holds will cover. You're talking about pissing off celestial and mortal authorities alike."

"You say this like it's a new thing." Marie pulls out a cigarette of her own from a pack, and a silver lighter engraved with a Latin inscription I can't translate. "You have no Role to protect, do you? Do you think your Prince would object?"

I'm wondering if my occasional contract-givers would. But if I constrain my choices based on what War likes, I might as well be in service. "No objections, no Role. Even so. It's more than that Geas covers. This will take me at least a week, and that's if everything goes well. How often does everything go well? I've had a building dropped on me, before. It's a possibility. Trauma is not entertaining."

"I have a budget to offer incentives above and beyond the resolution of your standing debt with my Sister." Marie takes a long, slow drag of her cigarette, making it look downright refined. I only look furtive when I smoke, which is why I don't bother. Cigarettes are for lighting and then letting burn down as a stress relief. "What sum would you find reasonable?"

"Money?" I chuckle, wave my cigarette at her. "Who said _money_? If I needed that, I could get it from other jobs. If I'm doing this fancy, finicky contract for you, I'd like to get something I can't find elsewhere."

"Really." Marie says it so blandly, but I do believe that's the faintest hint of respect in there. "What did you have in mind?"

"What I want is the location of an ethereal Tether. One owned by someone amenable to negotiation." And that slight widening of the eyes is surprise, thank you very much. "An introduction would be nice, but I won't insist. Only a place where I'm able to make my own deals with the owner for the use of it."

"A strange request."

"You know how we Calabim are," I say, and stub out the remains of my cigarette on the lantern. "Strange tastes. If you can't manage that..."

"It should be available," Marie says, a little too quickly. My, but they _are_ in a hurry. "But only on completion of the deal, within deadline. We can offer a release of your debt in exchange for the attempt, but no payment beyond unless you carry through."

"I can try. I'll probably suceed, but shit happens. We'll find out." I give her my Impudite-class smile, charming as all Hell. "Can I get the deal in writing?"

"I'll fill the details." The Lilim has a contract ready, appearing from under the table. "You'll accept the Geas to hold you to this contract, of course."

"Of course," I say, and Nik's teeth dig into my thumb. I maintain the smile. "Standard procedure."

Ten minutes later, I'm out the back door with a folder of data in one hand and an angry Kyriotate in the other. "I'm not waiting for a ride," I tell Nik. "Erica would charge for it. Could you ask Ferro to swing by?"

A car that once belonged to a Hellsworn bartender slides neatly into the parking lot. "Or," I say, "you might have already done that."

Nik's inside in the same junkie as before, sitting in the back seat with her arms folded tightly. "I can't believe you agreed to that," she snaps, the instant the door's closed. "Does the phrase 'deal with the devil' ring any bells?"

"Nik! I'm a demon. She's a demon. With Lilim, I know where I stand. And I'd trust one of the Tempters before I'd trust any Servitor of War, because that's what a Geas is for." I flip open the folder. "I've been awfully good of late. Let me have a little fun."

"It's not a good idea. It's just not a good idea." Nik picks at her fingernails, and scrabbles out of my pocket to sit on my shoulder and squeak in my ear. "This could go wrong, this could go so wrong..."

Ferro slides to a gentle stop at a traffic light. "What are we doing?"

I pick up a photograph, hold it up to see by the light of the street lamps. Tidy little four-story place, with trimmed hedges along the sidewalk. "Blowing up a building."

"Oh." The ethereal tilts its head to the side, considers this. "Sounds like fun."


	3. In Which Matters Of Hierarchy Are Addressed

It didn't seem like a good idea to return to the apartment--or to hold onto a stolen car--which is why I'm lounging as well as I can in the cramped back seat of a pickup truck, a cage of mice resting on my knees. Nik's human host is left behind, richer and cleaner than she was when the Kyriotate grabbed her, and the front passenger seat is taken up with the big black trunk Ferro watches out for. "I realize this isn't a good time," I tell Nik, "but let's talk. I gather you're upset." 

The two mice squeak indignantly in unison, rearing up on their hind legs to glare at me. That would be a yes. "So tell me this. Is it because I agreed to blow up a building, or because I took a contract from a demon instead of an angel?" 

Nik has to think about this one, peering at herself and taking a round on the wheel with one host to work through it. Finally, she squeaks twice. "I can understand that. So if you're upset by my taking contracts from demons, you're free to sit that job out." The four tiny eyes that fix themselves on me are downright offended. "You insist on sticking with me through all my jobs?" Vigorous nodding. "But you want to object to which jobs I take?" More hesitant nodding, and the two mice look at each other, as if Nik is conferring with herself. 

I prop my head on my hands. "Here's the problem, Nik. If you want to work on all my projects, but don't want to work for demons, that means my contract agreements are contingent on you being satisfied with the terms. You're the one dictating what contracts I should take, and from whom, and so forth. Which is closer to taking orders than I'm comfortable with, because not dealing with authority well was what sent me Renegade. If you don't want a part of certain contracts, I'm fine with that. You want to determine which ones I take? We're going to have a problem." 

"I don't care what contracts you take," Ferro says, from the front. It carves abstract symbols into the dashboard as we wait at an interminable red light. I wonder if Ethereals have their own writing system and language, like Heaven and Hell. "Not so long as I live through them. Angels, demons, what's the difference? None of them care for us." 

Nik snaps two sets of teeth in the air, and climbs onto my shoulders to settle there in two irate bundles of fur. "I think the angel in the car objects," I say. "She does have a point. There are many important differences between the two sides in the War, some of which I'll be able to think of if you give me a few minutes." Nik bites me on the shoulder. "Okay, I'm joking, I'm _joking_. How about this? Heaven's better at keeping deals. So long as you have Trade brokering it. And, okay, Lilim are just as good at keeping their word..." I try for a different direction. "Or that part where Seraphim don't lie. Very handy. Except for when it's inconvenient, but it is something you can rely on."

Ferro laughs, always a strange sound coming from that ethereal. Like a motorcycle trying to rev up. "You're not convincing me. So the Bands and Choirs are different. What does it matter? Lump them all together. They fight against each other when they're on the same side anyway. Makes no difference."

I didn't know that a mouse's tail could lash that fast. "Find a coffee shop that's open this late and pull over, Fer. Let's go for another lesson on fitting in on the corporeal." Before my two partners decide to get physical about this. I sit up, set the mouse cage aside. "Nik, want to come in?"

I take point on walking into the coffee shop, while Ferro trails behind me with Nik still hissing at him from my pocket. There's only one person inside, a college student with a nose ring and a red-streaked hair. She looks up from where she's leaning over a laptop behind the counter. "Up early, or up late?"

"A little of each. I'm doing an all-night drive to get to my niece's recital. Could I get one of the plain bagels, and two cups of coffee?" I lean on the counter, emoting harmless amiability. "Hey, is that computer open for whoever wants to use it?"

"That's why it's pointing in that direction." She pours the coffee with the casual ease of someone who's been drinking it all night. "Your niece, huh?"

"Yeah, cute kid. She's nine." I sit down on the barstool, and pull up one of those free email services on the computer. "Says she wants to dance ballet when she grows up. Of course, last year she wanted to be a firefighter, and the year before she wanted to work for the CIA, so who knows?"

"Precocious kid. She likes action, then?" Ferro takes a seat next to me, and eyes the coffee set in front of it with suspicion. The college kid leans back against the wall, drinking from her own cup of coffee. "What's her name?"

"Katherine. She's a real action girl. Her mom's in the military. Might take after her, right?" I slide the bagel towards Ferro. "She has plenty of time yet to make up her mind."

"Guess so, at that age." She leans over the counter to look at the computer screen, closer than I'd like a stranger in my personal space. "That a picture of her?"

The latest email, plucked from the wealth of spam, does include attached pictures. Katherine and Ling, working in the greenhouse. "That'd be her. The younger one, of course."

"Huh. Who's the other one?" She taps black-painted fingernails on the counter. "She's hot."

"Her cousin. From the other side of the family." I poke Nik in my pocket, and a moment later the Kyriotate's getting out of my personal space in her new host. "How're you doing?"

"Not happy with the job," Nik says, and turns the coffee cup around in her hands. "We're dealing with a Lilim working for God knows who, Leo. You know she'll stab you in the back."

"Probably not. It's bad for business if word goes out that you're always screwing over contractors. I'd trust a sworn Geas on a Lilim further than I'd trust War." I file away the email with its childish attached chatter, and work up a vague yet friendly response for the kid. It keeps Katherine happy, which means the Seneschal of the Flowers Tether she lives at might give me a place to stay if I desperately need it. Small price to pay for that bolt hole. "Fer, eat your bagel."

"I don't see the purpose of imitating biological functions that aren't necessary for my vessel," it says, poking the bagel with one nail. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

I stop, slice the bagel open, add the obligatory cream cheese. "This is a simple one. You can pick it up with your hands. We'll tackle the silverware issue once you've mastered basic eating techniques. Stick it in your mouth, bite off a piece, chew, swallow, repeat until finished. Alternate with sips of your coffee if you'd like. We've been over this before, Fer."

"We don't know who this Lilim is working for," Nik says. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Far from it. The less I know, the less likely they are to decide I know too much afterward. Like Sean did the first time." I watch Ferro until it takes a grudging bite. "That's not so hard, is it?"

"You're blowing up a building, Leo. This doesn't bother you?" Nik cleans the counter as she talks, rag scrubbing at old stains. "People could get hurt."

I pull out the file again, show her the picture. "Does that look like a residential building to you? That's an office building. Clears out every night. They want the contents of the building destroyed, not the people. Wire things up, set it off remotely. You'll do a sweep beforehand, to make sure we haven't missed anyone. You know I'm no good at killing people." Not until I can get this damn Discord removed.

"This bagel tastes funny."

"It's called cream cheese, Fer. Learn to love it." I lean over the counter. I can't use my charming smile on her--she knows it too well--but I can project confidence. "I've thought through this. It'll be fine. If you spot any problems, you tell me, and I'll take care of them then."

"I suppose so." She washes her coffee cup out, all the nervous motions of a Kyriotate making sure they won't leave their host in a worse condition that she was found in. "It makes me uncomfortable, is all. Working for demons. I mean, the kind who serve Hell."

"Ten to one she was a Free Lilim, and that's as far as you get from serving Hell while still being a demon and not Renegade. Freedom may be a demonic Word, but it's the grayest one. Relax." I'm less certain about that Lilim's allegiances than I claim, but appearing confident avoids arguments that won't solve anything. "...Fer, stop picking that apart, and eat it."

"I don't want to eat it. I'm trying to disassemble it. It's homogenous. How boring. No moving parts."

"Oh, you picked a good one," Nik mutters to me, and hangs her coffee cup on a peg with the rest.

"We all have our quirks." I finish off my coffee while Ferro pulls apart the bagel. "You know, Fer, I'm thinking that working undercover isn't really your thing. But it would be nice if you could fake human mannerisms well enough to pass for more than a few minutes."

"Humans are stupid. They won't figure it out." The ethereal pushes the plate away. "I'm tired of trying to learn these things."

"More to the point, while humans might just think you're weird, celestials will notice. And if you get dead, that's inconvenient for me." I push the plate back. "Learn to eat."

"Lost cause. I don't know why you bother." Nik sits on the counter, fingers tapping to the rhythm of the music coming from the CD player. "So. We're blowing up a building. What's the plan?"

I pull her mouse-host out of my pocket, hold that one up so that I can grin at both of her at once. "How do you feel about getting into the exterminating business?"


	4. A Flashback, In Which I Was Once Young And Stupid

The room was built of scorching rock, smoky inside from the fires outside. Demons and twisted creatures that hoped to be demons some day perched around the edges, clinging to the walls and watching each other.

The Djinn who stepped into the center wore the form of some old vessel, tall and muscled, and underneath it the faint image of his true form. One of the wings along his back had been torn to tatters. "Quiet," he said. The snarling and chatter stopped. "You." He pointed to a small demon that clung to the wall near him, a Habbalite with burnt scars criss-crossing her face. "You want to go downstairs some day? Go serve our Dark Lord on Earth?"

"Yes," she said, eyes flickering red. "To go forth and serve--"

The Djinn slapped her across the face, moved on. "Yes would suffice," he said. "Now. You." He pointed in the direction of a wall, waited to see who looked guilty. An imp, cowering from his hand. "Let's suppose that by some strangeluck, you get to Earth. Vessel, maybe even a Role. It's midnight on a Sunday, and the city's quiet. You have a lighter. What do you do?"

The imp bit through a lip. "...set a building on fire?"

"No." Another backhand to the face, and the Djinn moved on. "Can anyone tell me why?" He turned around slowly, waiting for someone who looked nervous enough to be singled out.

"Because it would make a stupid amount of disturbance," said a Calabite, knees pulled up under his chin. "At which point you have everyone in the area descending on you, Tethers falling apart, that sort of thing. Which is all fine if you want a hot War, but if we were allowed to do that we'd already be doing it. So we aren't allowed, which means not causing that kind of disturbance unless you have orders."

The Djinn leaned in close, and wrapped claws around the Calabite's head. "And what do we learn from this, stupid little Destroyer?"

The Calabite's eyes widened, and he twitched under that grasp. "...um. Go talk a human into setting something on fire instead?"

"What they give me to work with here." The Djinn heaved a sigh, and let go of the demon's head, moving on to another part of the room. "Can any of you fools tell me what the primary disadvantages of having a Role are? Being a Shedite, or intending to become one, does not excuse you from knowing this."

The Djinn was thorough. By the end of the class, when he sent his students running out, he'd called on each of them, and made note of which had so little promise they weren't worth his time. As the students fought to exit through the one hole in the wall of the room, he stalked about the edge of the throng, watching the lower rungs of Hell's hierarchy sort themselves out. He noted who held back out of fear and who held back to avoid unnecessary conflict.

He slapped the Calabite away from the edge to stare down in person. "Wishing you'd become a Habbalite instead, or only attempting to emulate one?"

"Neither," said the Calabite, fingers twitching in the direction of the rings embedded along the ridge of his spine. "I only work for one. I've always been a Calabite."

"What do you think of Habbalah?"

"They're insane. Everyone knows that. Think they're angels." The Calabite sneered for an instant, before returning to his wary expression. "And Balseraphs think they always tell the truth, and Lilim think they're actually free."

The Djinn leaned in close, nose to nose. "And you're the only sane one out of everyone here?"

"No," said the Calabite. "I don't know how I'm crazy, because I'm too far inside of it to see what it is."

"You think you're clever," said the Djinn, and snapped sharp teeth at the Calabite, smiled at the flinch. "You might even be. But you don't know anything yet, and cleverness without information will only get you into trouble."

"I'm working on it," said the Calabite, sullen in voice as expected. "Gotta start somewhere."

"You want to go to Earth?"

"I want to get out of here," said the Calabite. "Staying in Hell doesn't lead to anything."

The Djinn lost his smile, and stepped back. "Maybe true," he said. "Maybe getting to Earth won't lead you anywhere either. What do you do if that happens?"

The Calabite hesitated, one hand picking at the scars on another. "I don't know," he said.

"Ah," said the Djinn. "So you're not a complete fool. Good. Remember that. The fool believes that he is wise."

"So as long as I know the limitations of my own knowledge, I'm clever?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," said the Djinn, and swatted the Calabite back into the dwindling crowd.


	5. In Which I Meet All Sorts Of New People, None Of Whom Are Trying To Kill Me, In A Shocking Change Of Pace

I adjust my cap, and stroll up to the front door of the building. The plaque next to the door is tasteful and discreet: Putnam, Valence, and Goldfield, Attorneys at Law. The intercom panel is equally subdued, barely visible against the dark wood of the door frame. I hit the buzzer three times, and lean against the wall, waiting.

"Hello?"

"Whack-a-Rat Exterminators," I reply brightly, in my best dim-but-helpful voice. "You called about a mouse problem?"

"Oh, right," Nik says, going through the performance for the benefit of anyone who might overhear the receptionist. "I'll buzz you right in."

Nik spent most of last night trotting through these gleaming halls--someone has been too enthusiastic with the floor buffer--and reporting back to me on what she saw in another host, but nothing replaces seeing these things myself. I stroll into the lobby and tip my hat to Nik in the receptionist's body. Twenty dollars in a custom shirt shop got my cap custom made, and dingy overalls are easy to find in any thrift store. There are some types of fakery that are easy to set up when dealing with humans from an economic class that pays little attention to the classes below them. The trickiest part was convincing Ferro that we wanted to _stencil_ letters on the side of the white pickup truck we've borrowed and loaded with convincing-look machinery, not _carve_ the letters in. "Morning, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"I'll take you to where I saw the mouse," Nik says, stumbling a little over her words. She's not cut out for subterfuge. Mimicking a human when none of that host's friends are watching, or when trying to induce a behavioral change, yes. Pretending to be the receptionist for a law firm populated by who knows what type of celestials, Soldiers, and humans who'd know the woman? Not so much. "It was over in the kitchen by the cabinets--"

"I'll take it from here, Laura," says a woman, striding into the room. She's dressed in a dark power suit that screams "you pay me insane amounts of money so that I can twist the legal system in your favor," and her graying hair is pulled back into a severe bun. "Someone needs to watch the phones, after all. And you would be...." She puts out a hand for me to shake.

I respond with the cheerful, firm grip of a working man who likes his job. "Leroy Daily, ma'am. But you can call me Roy, most everyone does, because there are two Leroys at work, and you wouldn't _think_ it would be a common name, but there you go. I'm here to find out what kind of mouse problem you have, and what it'll take to get rid of it."

"Not too much of one, I hope," she says, and laughs in that light, artificial way that's supposed to be friendly and fails to be. "I'm Ms. Valence. We're always busy around here, but I can take you through the affected areas."

I look suitably impressed. "One of the associates for the place? Thanks for the time, ma'am. I'll try to be quick about this, not waste your billing hours."

"Sometimes it's pleasant to have a change of pace," she says, and smiles back at me in a manner as artificial as her laugh. I make a mental note of "probably not a Mercurian" and follow her into the hallways.

Law offices targeted by celestials usually mean either the Game or Judgment, and I'm not sure which I'd prefer. Judgment, maybe, for being more likely to kill my vessel rather conducing a prolonged, bloody conversation. On the other hand, the Game's unlikely to spot me wandering around with their resonance and attunements alone unless they have a Calabite on hand. It could be one of those rare instances of a matter entirely between one set of demons and ordinary humans... but how likely is that? I can tell this much: when an associate whose name is on the door outside escorts the exterminator through the building, they're either hurting for business or they don't want the wrong people stumbling into something. They don't look like they're hurting for business.

Nik wiggles in my overalls pocket, trying to make herself comfortable in the tight space. "It's probably the paralegals," Ms. Valence tells me, waving a dismissive hand with neatly-trimmed fingernails. "They don't clean up properly in the break room. Or the junior lawyers who eat lunch at their desks, crumbs everywhere. It's an untidy habit. Restaurants were created for a reason."

"Mice can get into all sorts of places when you least expect 'em," I say, and whack the bag slung over my shoulder. "That's what keeps me employed, right?"

"Right," says the woman, and gives up on the laughter in favor of a tight smile. "Here's the break room."

I make a show of examining the baseboards, and take particular note of the cupboards under the sink. The dust says those cleaning supplies haven't been moved in weeks, if not months; I can stow a device behind them and expect it not to be disturbed. "Yup, here's a few droppings. Little bastards--beg your pardon, ma'am, the little critters have been through here. Might need to have all the food moved out for a day or two, depending on how big the infestation is."

"No need to apologize," says Ms. Valence, and for once the smile seems genuine. "I hear worse language than that from my clients all the time."

I stand up, readjust my cap, and grin at her. "But they're paying you, and you're paying me, so it's best if I mind my manners. Now, is this the only place you've seen mice?"

"The only place the mouse was seen, but a paralegal reported there was a hole chewed in something she'd left in the office overnight." Bless Nik and her sharp teeth. There's a fine line between confirmation and overkill, but I figured one reported sighting and a few pieces of evidence would suffice. "That was down the hall, if you wanted to take a look?"

I nod, and check inside my bag for a clipboard and sheet of paper to take notes on. "Think I'd better take a look around the whole floor, if it's not too much trouble, ma'am. I need to make sure I get all those holes, or they'll be right back a week after I've gotten rid of them. The mice, I mean, not the holes, as holes only show up when there's mice making them. Or rats, that'd be a bigger problem, but I don't think you have rats here, only mice, and those aren't so bad compared to some." Now comes the trickier bit, as I stuff the clipboard under my arm. "Don't suppose you have any sort of floor plan I can mark up? That'll make it easier to be thorough, map out how much treatment you need and where."

The hesitation means concern over security. What _are_ they hiding in here, that some Lilim wants to have destroyed? "I might be able to find one," she say. "Let's move along."

An hour later, I have a sketchy floor plan for all three floors, and a close, personal relationship with the parquet floor. My knees ache from all the crouching near corners. "Think I have everything on this floor mapped out," I say, stuffing a new sheet of paper into the clipboard. "Does this door go downstairs? Any sort of basement?" The doorway beside me isn't marked on the floor plan, nor are the stairs leading down, but the unlabeled square is either that or a closet that's being avoided. "Mice love the basements, and that's where they show up first. Run in, down where the pipes come in, work their way up. If you have a basement, we need to check that out."

The hesitation's longer this time. "It's only file storage," she says. "Nothing for mice to eat down there."

"But, begging your pardon, ma'am, mice will go all sorts of distance to find food, and they might have dug in down there before heading upstairs. Especially in the winter, when the cold sends them running from outside to any place warm. They'll chew paper to make nests, too." I adjust my cap, look properly deferential. "If it's confidential papers, you know, I don't go prying in customers' business. It would be unprofessional. But I should have a look, just in case, if you don't mind. Of course, if you want me to only handle the top floors, I can do that too. Customer is always right. Can't get you a guarantee on it, but I can clear those out, and maybe that'll keep them away for a while."

I'm not sure if I'm laying it on too thick. There's a certain danger to making up my explanations as I go along, but this woman or demon or angel or what have you doesn't have a high opinion of blue-collar workers; she'll believe any appearance of simple-mindedness I give, and won't research mouse facts herself. I maintain a harmless expression, vaguely concerned and polite, until she finally nods. "You must understand," she says, as she leads to the door I'd already guessed was the one, "all of our paperwork down here is highly confidential. If you need to set up any equipment down there later, you'll be supervised at all times. It's not that we don't trust you, but the law's clear on the precautions we have to take."

The law says nothing about being forced to supervise anyone walking in the general area of confidential files, I'm sure, but I nod solemnly to this and follow her downstairs.

The basement's as large as the floors above it, one giant room mazed with filing cabinets. I work my way around the edges, checking all the walls, and take a different route each time as I cross to get a "better angle on that corner there, just to check and see" until I've walked each twist of the maze at least once. "Well," I say, right as this lawyer's patience looks to be wearing thin. "Think that's everything. I can make an appointment to get this problem taken care of in a jiffy. Got all of Friday afternoon open, if you want it done then, or after that..." I flip through the cheap date book I bought and then stomped on a few times for that well-worn look. "Next Wednesday's the next earliest I have after that. Could get you in earlier if this place was a smaller, but somewhere this big? Requires a big time slot."

"Friday will do, then," Ms. Valence says. "When will you arrive?"

"The crack of noon!" I tip my hat cheerfully to her. "I'll leave the details with the receptionist upstairs, so she can call me if anything else turns up. Wouldn't want to discover, say, a roach problem too. Those can get messy. You know what they say, after the last nuclear war, the roaches and the rats will be the only ones left standing."

"So I've heard," she says, and takes me back upstairs.

I take the truck back to the motel we're camping out in for the moment. Nik's found a human host to meet me with there, pacing about the room as Ferro plays with toy cars on the floor. "Well?" she asks, the moment I've closed the door behind me. "What do you think?"

"Given the equipment, time to place everything, and no unexpected snags... it should go well." I drop down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, and Nik sits down beside me, her host's hand reaching over to hold mine. This one's a woman in her mid-thirties, wearing paint-spattered jeans and a baggy sweatshirt from some community college. "The one hiccup in the plan so far is the safe in the basement. I don't know if you saw that. It's one of those fireproof ones, and damn big. If something's so important this Lilim wants a building destroyed to get rid of it, I'll bet it's important enough to go in that safe. I'm going to need to open it, or it might well survive the blast." Nik's fingers rub along my wrist, where that Geas lingers in its unseen celestial way. "I could complete the contract by taking the building down, and if the safe doesn't go, that's their problem. But it's sloppy, and I'd rather not get the reputation for doing sloppy work that fulfills the letter and not the spirit of the deal."

"How very Trader of you," Nik says, but from her it's not an insult. "So...we're safe-cracking?"

"Yeah. Might need to sneak Ferro inside; it's beyond my skills. First I need to put in a requisition for the materials, and make sure the contact that Lilim gave me is reliable enough to get me exactly what I ask for, not an approximation. Explosives with similar ratings aren't interchangeable, especially on a job as fussy as this one." I pull out my notebook and roll over on my stomach to sketch out my final arrangement. I'm going to need a calculator. "Ideally, we stall during the extermination until I'm placing these after business hours, with you taking over the supervisor. Everyone clears out for the night, we pop the safe, ditch, set the charges off remotely, boom, done. Life is good."

"Sounds like a plan," Nik says.

"Exactly. It's not a bad plan. Not a perfect plan, but easier for knowing my parameters from the start. Tight deadline, but I can work with that. It's less chance for me to be noticed by the wrong people while lingering." I rein in my bout of self-congratulation before it goes to my head. "Which isn't to say we shouldn't be careful. Fer, I want you to come along on this trip to see the contact with all the fun toys that go boom."

"I thought I was going with you," Nik says, wiggling in her mouse vessel in my pocket as way of explanation.

"Exactly. I want both of you there, but visible backup cuts down on the chances of backstabbing. The Lilim doesn't think they would, but we're talking about a weapons and explosives dealer. Chances of running into someone from Fire or the War? Higher than I'd like. We'll be careful." I stand up, collect my jacket from where I tossed it. "This isn't complicated. Everyone good to go?"

"Simple," Nik says, and Ferro only nods, standing up in that one-limb-at-a-time manner that looks nothing like human movement. "Luck. Don't get shot."

"Wasn't planning on it," I say, and drop a kiss on her human host's cheek before heading outside.

Ferro drives to my directions, and I make up the list based on preliminary calculations on the way over. This won't be precise, but if I overestimate I can give back anything extra. The ethereal's as quiet as usual, focusing intensely on the road.

We arrive at the obligatory dark warehouse, though this one's metal roof gleams in the late afternoon sun. Ferro locks the car behind us, and stares at the roof while we approach, mouth hanging open far enough to show its pointed teeth. Strange and ever stranger, ethereals, and I'm not sure I want to know what's going through its mind. "Stay sharp, Fer."

"Always am," it replies promptly, and tears its gaze away while I rap on the door.

A man peers out of a slot at the top of the door, sunglasses worn inside under these circumstances immediately marking him as someone who's dealt with Lilim before. "What do you want?"

I lean against the side of the door, and offer him a charming smile. He's probably seen too many of those to be fooled. "I'm here to see Al about purchasing custom plastic molds. Marie said you'd be expecting me." I glance up at the poorly hidden camera over the door. "What do you want, a driver's license? Go ask."

The slot snaps shut, and I check my list again. Fer leans over my shoulder to read it. "What if the whole place has been taken over by Malakim of the Sword, waiting for customers to show so that they can smite?"

"Then it'll be a short trip." I tuck the list into an outer pocket where it won't crumble before I have a chance to use it. The Symphony hates Calabim: I have enough self-control to not disassemble things left and right, in exchange I get an entropy aura that does it for me. As if the obligatory Discord weren't bad enough.

The wait's long enough that I'm starting to get twitchy when the slot reopens. Same person as before. "You can come in," he says, and opens the door after a long round of bolts being drawn.

I step into a poorly lit back room, where heaps of cement sacks sit around trying to look like they have any purpose but to camouflage what goes on here. The doorman stands nearly a foot taller than me, and carries a weapon under his coat, yet he watches me warily. Hellsworn, not a demon. "Al's in the back," he says, jerking a thumb at one of the doors in the room. "Don't try to start anything."

"Or what?" I switch my smile from charming to winning. "Relax. I'll be on my _best_ behavior. Come on, Fer." It says something about the confidence of aforementioned Al that this human doesn't follow us through the door.

Inside the warehouse proper, the shelves are stacked with crates marked only with numbers. Not a written label to be seen, and I'm sure the contents are fascinating. I walk down the aisle towards the light marking a shuttered interior window on the far side. Plenty of time for someone else to assess me while I get to the office and the meeting.

"They want to wake up," Fer whispers.

"What does?" I don't stop, but I slow down long enough to get an answer before we're at the window.

"Machines," Fer says, fingers twitching, and if it pulls out its vehicle-control ability here without good reason, I _will_ kill it. This is not a good time to startle weapons dealers. "They're taken apart and trapped in boxes, but they want to wake up. Some of them out there." It smiles at me suddenly. "I had friends who would have been glad to take bodies like those. Maybe some day they'll come to the corporeal too."

"Maybe, maybe not. We'll talk about it later, okay?" This is not a good time to discuss the issues relevant to an ethereal with a grudge against Heaven and Hell alike. I wonder if bringing Ferro along was a bad idea; it is unlikely that the Lilim would go to this much trouble to set me up.

A dinky little desk with a rotary phone and a desk lamp rests against the wall beside the window. I stride on up, and wait politely for the woman sitting at the desk--a mousy secretarial sort with the fashion sense of someone who gets their clothes from missionary barrels--to acknowledge me.

She finally looks up, and I blink, control my reaction to that. The woman looks a lot like the receptionist who used to work for that one architectural company... But that was a long time ago, and that woman's long dead. "Afternoon," says the woman, and wipes her nose on a tissue. "Excuse me, got a cold. It happens. You're here to talk to Al, right? We were told you were coming. She's on the phone, but if you'll have a seat--" The woman gestures out in front of her, and then frowns, as if only now realizing there are no chairs in sight. "Um. Well, if you'll wait here, she'll be right with you."

I lean against the wall, resisting the urge to lean near enough the window to make out the conversation inside. That's none of my business. Ferro squats down on the floor, picking at bits of particle board.

"I'm curious. How do you get a job like this?"

The woman looks up from the papers spread across her desk, and wipes her nose with the tissue again. "Working for an arms dealer who happens to be a demon?" She shrugs. "Like I had anything better to do with a philosophy degree. I answered an ad. It doesn't pay too badly. Hours are good. I get a lot of reading done." She blows her nose, and tosses the tissue into the overflowing wastebasket next to her desk. "The lighting could be better, but Al has issues with lighting."

"I bet you get into interesting discussions with Habbalah."

"Less than you'd think. Most of them are too busy trying to impress me with how they're really angels." She leans forward on the desk, chin propped on one hand. "Are you an Impudite? Because Al gets personal about it if you suck my Essence. Fair warning."

"Do I look like an Impudite to you?" I spread my hands, and grin. "Don't worry. Your Essence is as safe as you can make it."

"Good," she says. "Impudites are annoying." She pauses as an intercom set into the wall by the desk flashes at her. "Okay, you can go in. Don't do anything stupid or she'll make your head explode, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind." I wait for Ferro to stand up, and open the door to the office.

There's standard office furniture inside, and the demon behind the desk looks like no one I've seen on the corporeal before. Her hair's a shade of dark blue-green too subtly shaded to be a dye job, her skin's pale blue with what looks to be scales, and her eyes look like they've been made from black pearls. She smiles at me with black lips and bright white teeth. "Have a seat," she says, pointing to a comfortable chair, and Ferro takes another beside me. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Marie did give me fair warning, but I got a last minute call..." She waves at the phone on her desk, as graceful as any Balseraph, and I see that her fingernails look cut out of mother of pearl. "Some clients get impatient. I suppose you're in a hurry, too."

"I am on a deadline." I pull out the list I made, and lean forward to pass it to her across the desk, notice how careful she is not to touch my fingers when she takes the paper from me. "Think you'll be able to help?"

Al reads down the list quickly, then again more slowly; it's strange to watch her eyes move, the dim light of the room catching and spinning out different colors on the way. "I see. Taking advantage of being on an expense account? I can help you with all of this, though I have to check the numbers." She presses her lips together into a sudden smile. "I'd love to see the results. I don't suppose you'll be filming it?"

"Not being a Media Servitor... no, sorry." I shrug, smile apologetically. "And video cameras break down if I use them anyway."

"Oh well. You can't have everything." She flicks a glance at Ferro, who's been quiet so far. "If you'd like to send your companion out into the warehouse with the list, I'll have Pablo get started on the supplies. We can go over the finer details in here."

I know a hint when I see one. "Fer, could you do that?"

It nods, and stands up, snatching the list from the desk. "Sure thing, boss," it says, with a sarcastic lilt, and goes outside to bother the Hellsworn.

"So," Al says, and folds two hands together, places her chin on top of them. It's the well-practiced gesture of which the secretary's was only a feeble imitation. "Leo. Formerly of the War, formerly _formerly_ of Fire, and now of...Theft?"

"That's how the story goes." I dig up a mild version of my own charming smile. No one used to Impudites is taken in by the full-powered version.

"Quite the career. You don't strike me as the violent sort, but, well." She waves a hand towards the shuttered window, past which Ferro is off collecting various high explosives and the like. "You never can tell."

"Though apparently you can."   
Al chuckles, leaning back in her chair again. "I only received a name from Marie, but the silly little Tempter you owed had more information, and she's chatty with Wordmates." She smirks at the reaction I can't quite conceal. "Don't worry. I haven't worked directly for Lust in a long time. Endless temping for Lilim is more to my taste; you wouldn't find me selling such fun toys as these if I were still in direct service to my Prince. Personally, I find Bandmates more interesting than Servitors of the same Word. Lust in all its flavors ends up feeling much the same in the end, but there are endless variations on destruction."

I pull out a cigarette, wait for her nod before lighting it. "As you might have gathered, I'm not much of a Calabite. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, but why do you say that?" She's beautiful in a semi-human way, if nothing like a Balseraph's purity of form, and every gesture she makes is precise, trained. "There's more to being a Destroyer than bodily force. Or even one's resonance, if it comes to that. Working in this business, I've grown to appreciate the more...well, let's say, the creative aspects of destruction. Sometimes all a person needs is a knife to the throat, and sometimes what they need is a destroyed credit rating, reputation, and business. Our Band is more prone to the former, but that doesn't preclude the latter. Or the use of strategically-placed explosives."

The twitch from my pocket reminds me that Nik's listening in, and I amend my response. If I didn't have to worry about keeping the Kyriotate happy... But there are more important things to do than amuse myself. "I'm not the only Calabite out there who knows how to wire a place. But, hey, I'll take my compliments where I can get them."

"Not a bad choice." She taps those shiny fingernails on the desk with audible clicks. "As long as I'm being complimentary, I'll note that you were better than some when you saw me."

"And worse than others?" I'm sure I didn't keep my expression entirely smooth; I've seen demons with weird appendages or colors from Discord before, but never to this extent. And never so nicely coordinated.

"Maybe not that much worse." She smiles lazily at me across the desk, fingers twisting in her hair. "When I first came to Earth, it was in France, some centuries ago, and the owner of the brothel I worked at--an Impudite, horrible smarmy woman--had this whole story she'd tell of my origins, before letting anyone see me. How my mother had been a pure and innocent virgin, raped by a sea monster, and I was the product of that wicked union. Poor wicked Abigail, cursed by her mother's fate to be a monster, if a beautiful one, never truly human, barred from Heaven by not having a fully human soul... Silly story, but it kept them happy, back when rational, modern men still believed in that kind of thing. The reactions I got from new clients..." She tugs a strand of hair out, and examines it between her fingers. "One couldn't get away with that these days. But there's a place for everyone, if not necessarily the place we started from. Wouldn't you say that's true?"

"I'm not working for Fire anymore. These things happen." I'm not sure what answers she's looking for here, and it frustrates me that I can't read her well enough to play my part in the script. Or maybe I just can't play it when Nik has censored a swath of my options. For the first time in months, I wish the Kyriotate wasn't here to watch me. "You used to go by Abigail?"

"It's not far from my true name. I use Al these days, which is close in another way. When I have human clients I don't need to meet, it makes them feel better to believe they're dealing with a man. As if a little dangling handle for Lust should make a person more reliable than the matching hole." The Calabite sighs, a delicate little sound, and relaxes in her chair. "But then, humans have never been very bright. Even compared to our Band and how we're judged. No one expects us to be...clever."

"Could be worse," I say, and lean back in my own chair, one hand on the pocket where Nik waits and shivers. "We could be Habbalah. No one expects them to be sane."

"True!" Al who's been called Abigail laughs like she means it. "You've dealt with them in the past, then?"

I don't quite flinch at the memory. Memories. This is not a good time for a trip down memory lane, not while I'm being polite but not-interested to a friendly Calabite with a jealous Kyriotate in my pocket and heavy weaponry right outside the door. This is what one calls a delicate situation. But I can hold out until Ferro's picked up our shopping list of supplies. "Hasn't everyone?"


	6. A Flashback, In Which I Am Not In Charge Of Anything

When two Habbalah meet, there is a sizing up, as between two dogs, except what they measure is the sum of personal holiness, power, and strength. One had a Distinction, the other was a Seneschal: this left the conclusion in doubt. Leo wandered through the halls of the small museum, with half an ear to the discussion of theology and tactics going on in the room where they'd arrived. He ran new fingers along the glass, and they were his fingers and they were ones he'd never seen before. The conversation wound away from theology to practical matters, and he wandered nearer to the office. There was danger in not being immediately accessible when called for.

"Why they'd want someone to do _architecture_ , I don't know," said the Seneschal, white-tipped nails stark against her folded arms. "There's some idiot Djinn with an idea that it'll be useful who put in the request..." She shrugged. "I suppose it won't hurt to have a Destroyer on staff for a few years. I'll find uses for him." Her smile showed teeth.

"Come here, darling," said the Knight, with a flick of her hand, and Leo stepped into the office, shoulders already hunching. "He's learned not to break anything he shouldn't. I imagine you'll want to train him into more convenient behavioral patterns to your tastes, but that won't take long. He's a fast learner."

"They all are, with the right trainer." The Seneschal looked him up and down, fingernails still tapping. "What's your Discord?"

"Bound," Leo said, and resisted the urge to scratch at the wrists of this new vessel he couldn't escape.

"Not much use as a delivery boy. But I have a gremlin for that." The Seneschal waved the problem away. "At least it's nothing inconvenient. Berserkers make such messes." She flashed another smile at the Knight. "Thank you for the delivery. I'll let you know if he seems...insufficiently housebroken."

"He won't be," said the Knight, with enough warning in her voice to make the Calabite flinch. But she smiled, and inclined her head, and gave Leo one last affectionate pat before disappearing up the Tether in a hiss of disturbance.

"Sit," said the Seneschal, and he promptly complied. "Here's your class schedule. You'll be living in the dorms to begin with, but we've arranged for you to have an internship at the museum, so no fear, we'll see each other regularly. After your first year, we'll move you out to board in the house on the grounds where the curator lives. Which would be...me. And won't _that_ be fun."

"I'm sure," said Leo, and read through the list. "Intro to Psychology? Nineteenth Century English Literature?"

"It's a liberal arts education, darling." She smiled to see him twitch. "That means you need to learn about more than your major. It'll be good practice in Role-building and dealing with the monkeys. So long as you do well in your major and don't flunk out, you can take whatever other classes you'd like. I'm told you're--how did that Djinn put it?--'too clever for your own good.' I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"

"Guess so." The Calabite folded the paper into quarters, and tucked it inside a pocket. Pockets and jackets and pants and shirts and socks and shoes, a whole complex assembly of clothing suddenly necessary even to him. The hair on his arms stood up in the cold if he took the jacket off. "When do classes start?"

"One week. Freshman orientation and move-in starts tomorrow." Her smile turned lazy and smug. A warning sign. "There's another little demon on campus, learning how to act human enough to fool people and build a Role. Some Band or another, working for the War. She came through the Tether this morning with her mentor. Perhaps you two will be great friends. Or perhaps you'll kill each other, squabbling over inconsequential things. It will be _so_ much fun to find out, won't it?"

Leo chose not to voice his opinion on rhetorical questions that required the listener answer them. "Guess so." His fingernails looked so short and useless, pale pink shields on the end of weak tan fingers. Not red at all. The pause indicated he ought to offer another question or comment. "What's her name?"

"Oh, I don't remember. It's written down around here somewhere." The Seneschal tapped one nail to her lips. "Aren't you going to ask what I'll have you do while you're working here?"

"Um. Figured it'd be whatever you felt like," Leo said. He let the tremor of distant fear creep into his voice. Habbalah knew you were weak, whether you tried to hide it or not. Easiest to give them what they wanted and prove what they believed.

"Vague, but comprehensive. Not a bad answer. Give me your hand." She took his wrist, turned his hand until his palm was facing downward. "I can see you've had _some_ training, but it's only the start." The black lighter she carried was polished to a near glow, and she flicked it on. "What did your master teach you about resistance?"

His hand jerked when the flame hit it, but he didn't pull away. Only shivered as the flame licked around his palm. "It's a sign of weakness. The strong hold up against what comes at them, and, and they deal with it." His other hand clenched into a fist, white-knuckled and out of sight behind the desk. His voice stayed nearly even.

"So she did teach you the important answers. Good." She caught his gaze, waited until his eyes were focused on her and not the flame raising blisters across his palm. "You'll feel whatever I want you to, won't you?"

"Yes." He couldn't stop his fingers from curling, as if they could protect him, and they couldn't. That was the first lesson, that nothing could save him.

"Good boy." The wave of desire, aching love, it was all terribly familiar as he let it wash over him. He adored her, worshipped her, couldn't even hate what she did to him. "I think we're going to get along quite well, won't we?"

"Of course," he said, and his hand trembled, but he didn't pull away from the flame.


	7. In Which A Well-Laid Plan Hits An Unexpected Snag

I read Faust only occasionally: Kit Marlowe's not as much to my taste as Jane Austen is, and I prefer stories with a happy ending to the long, inevitable slide into damnation. That aside, the prose is good, there are some memorable lines in there, and once in a while I'm in the mood for one of the generally acclaimed classics that you don't get sneered at for reading if other demons catch you at it.

Nik gave up reading over my shoulder an hour back, and now sniffs at the baseboard of the motel room. Last I checked, she had wrapped up the rest of her Forces in a human host for more research at the local library and a pigeon to watch over Fer while the ethereal's off playing with wires, which means she doesn't have any eyes on the room from the outside. I'd prefer to take care of all the setup myself, but this buzz of entropy makes that far too risky: I'm not about to chance burnt-through wires and failing starters when I have a Geas pushing me to do this job. "Come on, Nik, don't you want to find out what happens in the end?" I grin at her over the book, comfortable for once in my sprawl across the bed. I'll worry about wiring and placement and taking care of that safe later: for a few hours, I'm entertaining myself.

Nik sniffs, and indicates by squeak and gesture that she has no interest in this particular classic.

"'O lente, lente currite noctis equi.' That's a good one. Run slowly, slowly, horses of the night..." I flip to the next page, and read through the man's complete inability to change his fate. If getting into Heaven were as easy as that story makes it out to be, Hell would be sparsely populated. Not that the ease of repentance seems to have saved Faust. If it were that easy to get out of a deal with demons, the forces of Hell would be making this War a great deal hotter to compensate.

The last page turns, and that's it on the story I've read a dozen times before. I should've picked up a copy of something else while I was at the bookstore; Faust's too short to keep me occupied for long. Nik rears up to wiggle her nose at me as I stand up. "Off to check on Fer's progress," I tell her, and toss the book onto the heap of spare clothes and notebooks that make up our possessions in this room. "Drop your mouse back in the cage, and meet me there? I might need another overhead watcher if I have to head out for more supplies."

Nik gives me a dubious nose-twitch, but scampers back into the cage, and pulls out of the mouse once I close the cage door.

There's a moment of temptation to be frivolous and short-sighted, and call Abigail; she gave me the number for the line that rings in her office, and further conversations could be...interesting. But it's not worth the hassle of reassuring Nik should the Kyriotate notice, so I head for the truck.

It occurs to me, right around the time when my head hits the wall and I'm getting a knife shoved up near my throat, that taking the shorter route through a back alley wasn't the best idea I've had all day.

I don't try to fight back, because I know better. It takes a broken wrist on my part before Regan notices, and slows down to keep me pinned with body and knife, instead of expressing herself in the traditional manner of her people. "Hi, Regan," I say, and smile around the pain. "Long time no see. Relatively speaking. How's life been treating you?"

My ex-girlfriend is wearing her male vessel at the moment, taller and better-looking than mine, with the aristocrat sneer that Balseraphs display in any form they wear. "You're remarkably calm about all this," he says, and he wants to come across as cool and controlled, but I've known him for too long to be fooled. He's furious, holding his temper barely in check, and confused by his own emotional turmoil. There are a few advantages to a messy history with someone. "Do you think you can get out of this?"

I spread my hands, no matter that my left wrist is still throbbing madly, slowly enough to not look like I'm trying to do anything stupid. "If you wanted me dead right now, I'd be dead. I have to assume you want to talk first. So let's talk." First item on my conversational agenda: working enough information out of Regan to discover how he tracked me down, and if it was a repeatable. I can think of three potential methods right off, and only one of them is a leak I can conceivably plug before contract deadline.

"You always were a cocky bastard," Regan says, easing up on the knife, thank you very much, I'm rather fond of breathing when stuck in a vessel. (Which would be...always.) I choose not to point out the absurdities inherent in a Balseraph of the War calling _anyone_ else overconfident. "What makes you think I won't drag you back to face court-martial?"

"The fact that you haven't tossed Will Shackles on me yet?" I avoid the smirk I'd like to try. I don't want get my other wrist broken. "What do you want, Regan? An apology? Or to beat me up until you're feeling better?"

"I could drag you back--"

"Before people notice I'm missing? No. You couldn't. Not unless there's a Tether friendly to you in this city that I'm not aware of. So." I stuff my hands in my pockets, try to ignore the pain. "You want to talk, here I am. You want to beat me up, well, ditto. But I have a job to do, so let's pick up the pace."

"So it's true," Regan says, disgust rolling off his words. "You _have_ signed up with Theft."

Some day, when I'm in a generous mood, I'll thank Sean for helping me out with that misinformation. "Did you think I'd run around playing Renegade for any longer than I had to?" Regan may be paranoid, but she's as good at seeing through lies as Seraphim are at telling them. "I find my current job suits me better than the last one."

"You could have been someone who mattered," Regan snarls, teeth snapping off the words. "I could have made something useful out of you. Why would you waste your time with scum like Theft?" He adds, in a lower voice, "It would almost be better if you had run to Heaven."

It's amazing, in its own special way. We've done serious damage to each other since I've gone Renegade, I've helped angels shred one of Regan's carefully laid schemes, we ought to be trying to kill each other, and instead we're back to recapping the arguments we had when we were dating. I'll ignore that he'd rather have someone who fits his idea of a worthy opponent than a substandard ex-boyfriend on the same side in the War. "Point the first: I'm not big on ambition. Point the second, I like being able to _run away_. Point the third. In all the time we've known each other, did you fail to notice I have issues with authority figures? Maybe just a _few_?"

"You need a proper commander," Regan says. "Fire couldn't manage it. The War would have, if you hadn't gone stupid." He's nearly forgotten about the knife, so sure that I won't try to run. Which...I won't, because he's faster than me, stronger than me, and carries guns that he can aim well. Suicidal I am not. At least not today. "I don't think I could work out a return for you now. Even if you gave a convincing apology."

I choose not to remind him that the last time we spoke, he was planning on getting my Ethereal Forces stripped as soon as he dragged me back to his Prince. What are nitpicky details like the truth to a demon who twists reality to suit her? Arguing history with a Balseraph is an exercise in frustration. "That's how it goes. How have you been doing since we last met?"

"You're stalling for time until backup arrives," he says.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm actually curious." Maybe I actually care if Regan's been dealing with unpleasant consequences for my actions. Maybe I don't want to think about whether or not I care. "Humor me?"

"Not today," Regan says, and slams my head against the wall. Coming from him, it's no more than a firm reminder of who's in control of the situation, but it's enough to send my vision gray and blurry. "I was lucky enough to find you this time," he says, and through the double vision I note which tracking possibilities that phrasing would eliminate. "Why should I waste the opportunity on making you happy?"

"Good question," I say, and touch the back of my head. That'll drip blood all down my back. "For once, I've no good answers."

"I could kill you," he says, and his tone's as cold as he meant it to be earlier. That's enough to set off all the alarm bells in my head. The ones that aren't drowned out by the headache, that is. "It won't solve much. But it would inconvenience you, and your new Prince might be inspired to punish further. No more than you'd deserve."

"How would you ever recognize me again?" I offer him a crooked smile, the kind I've used under fits of temper before. Conciliatory. "Face it, Regan. If you kill me now, you're never going to see me again, because if you do, you won't know it's me." I'm taking a risk, that he'd care enough to let that hold him back. I'm not sure it will. Regan's always been adept at rewriting her own memories to eliminate any concern for people she found inconvenient.

He hesitates. It's only an instant, but it's enough to let me know I chose the right approach. "You say that as if I _care_ ," he sneers, and he does, strangely and inconveniently, in his own obsessive Balseraphy way. "Why would I want to see you again?"

"How should I know? Why did you want to see me now? I don't try to understand the motivations of Balseraphs and Servitors of the War." I may be laying it on too thick, but Regan has an ego the size of Alaska. Time to cue up the sincere-sounding apology and hope Nik has begun to wonder why I'm taking so long to reach the truck. "Regan, I was never cut out for the War. If I could have backed out any other way, I would have, but I didn't have any options, and I panicked. It was stupid and messy, but you have your missions to attend to, and I have my scruffy little jobs to go with being a scruffy little Calabite." He'll never believe an outright apology. "You're wasting your time, paying any attention to me."

Strange, that I am sorry. After everything Regan's done to me and hoped to do, I shouldn't be. I should be glad for whatever pain I can fling back in that Balseraph's direction. But she was always very pretty, and I was stupid and obsessed, and it seems these things are harder to let go of than I would've believed. Doesn't matter. Regan believes things as they suit her, not as they have a basis in reality. My sincerity is meaningless.

He'll buy my words, though he hasn't let go yet. "Troublesome brat," he says, as if he's any older than I am. Not any more experienced with working on Earth, that much I know, and a little less for her stint in Hell after Trauma. "If you get in the way of any of my duties--"

"You'll cut my throat and dump the body, yes. That's always been the case." Nervous little smile, let's remind him that he's in control and doesn't need to prove it. "If you wanted to tell me what brings you to this city, I could make a point of avoiding anything related."

"Hardly," Regan says. His knife disappears inside his jacket--a nice enough jacket that I indulge in a moment of envy for being able to wear nice things and not have them fall apart--and now only a hand rests on my throat. Enough to kill me still, so I'm not taking any chances. "How about you tell me what _you're_ here for, and if it's going to affect my job I'll let you know?"

"...ah. I'm thinking that wouldn't go over too well with my employer. But unless you're trying to, let's say, make sure certain vehicles in the city don't end up anywhere inappropriate..." I put on my roguish smile, the kind Regan imagines Magpies wear while carrying out their crimes. A little misdirection, and he won't remember what my specialities are.

"Why would that send you hunting for...supplies?" Regan backtracks, and not fast enough. I've reduced the ways I was found down to one, and miracle of miracles, it's the one trail I can actually cover. Less good that it means he's newly suspicious.

"What, I'm not allowed to have some fun of my own? Never liked SUVs," I say, and his face relaxes again from the incipient suspicion.

"Only because you can't drive them without having them fall apart on you," he says. "Fuck, Leo, you think it's all a game, don't you? We're at war here, and you treat the world like a playground. When are you going to grow up?"

I'm working for mysterious Lilim, Servitors of War, and occasionally Trade, trying to keep alive and a few steps ahead of people who want to shred me. If this is a game, I'd like to know who wrote the rules so I can go punch the guy. Or be snide in his direction. "Some other day," I say, and tilt my grin all the more carefree, irresponsible. Regan never had a high opinion of my maturity level. "If I can get away with doing what I _want_ , why shouldn't I?"

"Theft," Regan mutters, and lets go, takes half a step back so that he can sneer down at me from a better angle. "When the last battle comes, after this War's been fought and won, there'll be a reckoning of those who were playing while the rest of us waged war."

"You're the one who expects to live that long." I take my broken wrist out of my pocket to survey the swelling. That's not going to be fun to deal with, but Nik has the Song and the three of us have enough Essence to deal with the matter before I need to show up in front of people again. "Tell you what, Regan. If we both last that long, I'll shut up and take all the I-told-you-so speeches afterwards without one snarky comment. Fair enough?"

I'm not sure what Regan meant to answer to that, because that's when Nik comes running into the alley, human host on and murder in her eyes.

Maybe I could have shouted out something, kept the Kyriotate paused. Probably not. Nik's not the sort to listen when she's angry, when she's convinced she's right, or she never would have turned Outcast in the first place. She pounces the way someone more accustomed to animal hosts does, one hand curled into a fist, and it's enough to hit Regan in the shoulder, send the Balseraph staggering back a pace. Nik's one tough little Kyriotate.

Not as tough as Regan.

He's called up Corporeal Shields in an instant, while I'm still moving forward with I don't know what idea of pulling Nik off or something, and I'm...outside. Kyriotate and Balseraph trapped inside the impenetrable winds, and here's me, the guy who can't leave his vessel because of some stupid Discord carried since the making of a certain scruffy Calabite, trapped on the other side. What am I supposed to say now? No, don't, let's talk this out? Balseraph of the War, Kyriotate of the Sword. This will not end well.

More importantly, this will not end well for Nik. Regan calls up his sword, glitters a quick smile at me before lunging at the Kyrio, and I'm not sure what I should think about this, that he believes he's proving something to me. Proving what? That he's better at killing people than my current friends? I never would have debated that point.

"Die," Nik snarls, and she's using nothing but fists against a sword. She's as fast as Regan, ducking his first swings, but she won't last long trapped in there. Regan ducks her attacks in return, keeps her too far away to threaten him with all the reach cold steel affords. I turn my resonance towards the ground at Regan's feet to throw him off, and find my head's ringing too furiously with the headache for me to concentrate.

The sword flicks out, slices through the arm of Nik's host, and Regan blinks at the disturbance. "You keep strange company, Leo," he says, affecting a bored tone as the two of them regroup to opposite sides of the prison of air. "You've convinced humans to fight for you now?"

"I wouldn't exactly call this the _plan_ ," I snap, and another time I'd be more worried about Nik taking my criticism the wrong way, but right now I'm more concerned with her racking up dissonance. "How about we all shake hands and make up?"

"When I'm having so much fun?" Regan says, just as Nik says, "Never." Of all the times for the two of them to agree.

I wonder if I could knock Nik over the head, drag her host off, and apologize _quickly_ to Regan, once the shields go down.

I'm thinking no.

Nik pauses, so abruptly it catches me by surprise, and Regan's sword slides into her host's guts, blood running down the groove in the blade. It catches Regan by surprise, but Nik only smiles, sharp teeth like an animal baring them, and pushes forward, twists the hilt out of Regan's hand while he's trying to work out what she meant by it. "My turn," she says, and the shields fall, Nik falls back, but she's rolling backwards while she yanks the sword out of her own stomach. The Balseraph pulls out the knife, but Nik's back on her feet while I'm still trying to collect the tattered controls of my resonance, and when Nik stands up--

She holds her sword like someone who knows how to use it, no matter that her host is some grubby street kid with yellow-stained teeth and ragged sneakers. "Die," Nik hisses. Regan's sword flashes blue in her hand, a bright shimmer running all along the edge.

The Kyriotate leaps forward, and the slash she sends across Regan's ribs cuts deeper than the sword went, as if flesh is trying to curl away from where that blade touched. Another lunge, faster than the first, and Regan only parries it well enough to send it into his shoulder instead of his chest, another wound dark and deeper than it ought to be.

"You are playing with angels," Regan says, turning to Helltongue from shock or secrecy or I don't know what. He retreats, knife catching the blade as it comes at him. "Kyriotates and Swordies? What were you doing?"

I cradle my broken wrist. "There are times," I say, in Helltongue because this is no business of Nik's, "when you should leave things be." He can't retreat. Nik might know. I doubt she cares.

"I wouldn't have thought--" The sword catches him in the chest this time, faster than he could block, straight into his vessel. The wound spreads out around the thrust, and Regan drops, eyes wide and angry.

"Nik," I say, but she's already standing still, sword in hand, trembling. Her Discord won't let her go any further than that, not with Regan down and helpless. Any further and I'd be pressed to intervene. "Come on. Let's go."

"I want to--" She bites her lip, one more wound. Not a good sign when she's damaging her own host, no matter that it's already damaged. "I _can't_."

"Shut up and drop the sword, Nik. She'll track it if you hold onto it." I crouch down beside Regan, confirm that he's not dead...yet. Not likely to bleed out, with how fast vessels heal. I dig through his jacket until I find the cell phone, dial 911, and put up my hand when Nik starts to protest. A quick summary in a panicked tone, the address, and then I drop the cell phone back to the ground. "Let's go."

Nik rushes along beside me, better able to walk than _I_ am, no matter that her host's sporting wounds that would do in a human by now. "Why did you call? Don't you want him--"

"Nik. He has another vessel. The instant he wakes up, he'll be after us. Unless, say, he wakes up in a hospital with witnesses and has to explain what happened to interested authorities. I'm buying us _time_." Buying off my own conscience, to be sure he won't die when I'm not looking.

"Someone you knew," Nik whispers, and keeps up with me. "If it'd gone another minute--"

"I would have been out of it," I snap.

Ferro says, voice high and annoyed, "I would have been spent more Essence than I want to come rescue you all." It leans out the window of the truck, eyes narrow. "Let's go."

"Just what I was going to say." I reach for the handle of the door with my bad wrist, twitch at the sensation, and swap to the other hand to pull the door open and myself into the passenger seat. "Nik, let's get your host taken care of. Ferro? Somewhere _else_."

"I want to know who," Nik says, climbing into the back seat, barely in before Ferro's pulling off down the street. No passersby close enough to notice the blood, but there'll be an ambulance soon, and we don't want to deal with that. "I want to know what you were doing, and who he is--"

"Later, Nik." I close my eyes now that I can. I'm shaking, and angry, and worst of all, I'm not sure who I'm angry at. "I promise, I will tell you later, but for now, please. Quiet."

Nik's not always the brightest angel, but either she's getting smarter or she can hear in my voice what I can. She shuts up, begins whispering out the Song to heal her host, and I try to stop shaking while Ferro drives us somewhere that isn't here.


	8. A Flashback, In Which Overconfidence Is A Virtue

Regan gave the Calabite credit for this much: he did knock before entering the room. True, he would stand there and knock at minute intervals until she let him in, but he did knock. She yanked open the door, and favored him with her second-best sneer. "What do you want?"

"Your help. Maybe. If you're in the mood." Leo was nearly bouncing on his heels, surely a bad sign. He came up with the wildest plans when that Habbalite had pushed him into mania for a few hours. She yanked him inside by one arm before anyone else in the dorm could wander past and see her speaking to him, then shut the door firmly behind him. He seemed to take no offense, despite her attempt to give it, only taking a seat on the edge of the second bed, a mad grin plastered across his face. "Is your roommate going to be back any time soon?"

"I don't have a roommate." Regan leaned against the door with her arms folded.

"What happened to her?"

"She decided to drop out. She wasn't suited to college life."

"As you no doubt told her," Leo said, and his grin turned strange, as if he knew some secret he didn't want to share.

"I've never been one to shy away from the truth. Now what do you want?" She tried to fill her voice with all the awe-inspiring authority her own teachers in Hell had used. Calabim ought to cower before Balseraphs, grubby Destroyers with no fashion sense and no self-control.

"Help. Just a little help. If you're in the mood to give it. I have...a plan." He gave the words a theatrical air, and she returned a look to let him know she wasn't impressed. This seemed to dampen his enthusiasm not in the least. "But if you're busy, I understand. I can probably manage without your help, if not quite as well."

"Go ahead and tell me about it," she said, and took a seat at the desk. There was a level of boredom in this Role she wouldn't admit to her immediate superiors that some incendiary plan might relieve. "What's your clever, clever plan?"

"It's only a clever plan," Leo said. He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, leaned over to spread it out on the desk. "To be _really_ clever, I'd figure out how to do this without any disturbance. Take a look."

Regan poked at the grimy paper with the tip of a silver pen. "Can't you keep anything clean?"

"...no, not really. Sorry." He didn't sound apologetic at all. "What do you think?"

The paper was a mass of lines and numbers, arrows, none of it translating into something she could understand. She wasn't about to admit that to him. "Why should I be impressed by this? Go show your math homework to someone else."

His grin flickered, and for a moment his eyes showed something older and more thoughtful than she'd seen in them before. But then he was back to his usual cheerful, careless, immature self. "The annual bonfire. I've been looking over how the stacking works, and how things break down as the pieces burn. Weaken the right supports ahead of time, add a few especially flammable materials in the right spots, and it won't look any different, but it'll collapse outward instead of in. Big pieces of wood, on fire, rolling out in every direction towards the crowded, drunken student body. What's not to like?"

"Very Fire," Regan said, and rolled her eyes. "What, you're trying to impress someone?"

"What I am _trying_ to do is not be stuck here any longer than I have to be," Leo snapped, all his smiles vanishing. "If I can't pull off something fancy enough to get a Servitor attunement by the time I graduate, I'm going to be stuck at this dying Tether dancing attendance on a Habbalite forever." He paused, and turned the charm back on. "It's a start. I think it's a clever plan."

"Your Habbalite issues aren't my problem," Regan said, and shoved the paper back at him. "Besides, it sounds like you have it all figured out. What do you need my help for?"

"Anyone can make a minor fire incident," Leo said. "There's nothing impressive in that. But what makes it interesting is when you can turn a minor tragedy into a controversy."

"What's there to be controversial about? Last I checked, most humans aren't in favor of being burned alive," Regan said. And did not add, cowards, the lot of them.

Leo sighed, as if she were the one being difficult. "The bonfire fell apart, injured people. What a tragedy," he said, and then put on an expression of mock sympathy. "Poor souls, poor injured students, such a _tragedy_. But. What men would we be if we let a single incident stand in the way of years, _decades_ of tradition? Are we not defined by these values we hold to, against the odds, against those who would take away that which defines us, stands us apart from the rest? Would we let bleeding-heart weaklings who'd wrap the world in foam to protect us against those tribulations which turn boys into men destroy one of our traditions because of a single, preventable, easily corrected accident? We have the right, no, the _obligation_ to uphold this tradition, to not shame those who died by turning their deaths into an excuse for _cowardice_." He dropped the arch tone, and giggled, beaming up at her as if she were a teacher to give approval. "You're the one with contacts among people who care about tradition and bravery and et cetera, et cetera. You have the personality and force of character to say that and have people _believe_ it. With your help, this little bitty accident can turn into a real power play, with people arguing in the end how getting burned alive is a sort of honor and a tradition that has to be preserved. Interested?"

"I'm not Factions," Regan snapped, but the praise curled up in the pit of her stomach like a ready weapon. She could say these things, and people would listen to her. They always listened when she spoke with enough confidence.

"Of course not," Leo said, quick to step back and eager to please. Appropriate traits for a potential subordinate to have. "But think of how the cowards will rule the resolution of this if you don't speak up. Press your point of view, and they'll understand. It'll be an opportunity to champion confidence, bravery, tradition, not being afraid of a little risk... The sorts of things you know are important."

"You're presumptuous," she said.

"Maybe a little. Will you help?" His vessel was nothing much to look at, but the smile made it almost cute. "Please? I never got to work with a Balseraph before."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she said.

"How about doing your calculus homework for two weeks?"

"...that'll suffice." Regan leaned back in her chair, arms folded, and considered...possibilities. There was a world of possibilities in having someone to work with, practice in commanding subordinates that her superiors would never give her until she'd proven she knew how. "Did you have anything planned for this evening?"

"Homework, and...homework. So, not really." His eyes turned wary. It was enough to give her a cheerful buzz of satisfaction at having surprised him. "Why do you ask?"

"I might have a plan of my own," Regan said. And smiled.


	9. In Which Matters Of Varying Importance Are Discussed, To The Satisfaction Of No One

  Nik heals me with the Essence I loaned her, and then takes a seat beside me on the guard rail. From the place we've decided to wait I can see the road stretching out in either direction, decaying from time and lack of use. Ferro navigated better than I would have expected, and now that it's off dealing with small issues, the two of us are left to talk. Not a conversation I've been looking forward to: offense will be taken, I'll be annoyed at the reason for it, and this is unlikely to end in hugs and beer. But Nik will only get more upset the longer I wait. 

The wind's picked up enough that Nik's human host is shivering in that jacket chosen more for style than warmth, but Nik doesn't seem to notice. "Someone you knew," she says.

"Knew, know... It's a fuzzy distinction. Regan. We went to the same college, got into scrapes together, saved each other from injury or punishment once or twice. As demonic partnerships go, we were practically a model of well-adjusted functionality." I keep irritation out of my voice, affect a bored tone. "Which all went to hell when I got transferred to the War and the balance of power got mucked up. That was her second-favorite vessel you trashed. I think she's going to hold a grudge."

"The Balseraph of the War you used to work with?" Nik's heard a few stories, but we both have our own reasons to prefer talking about the present than the past. I don't ask Nik about her work for the Sword, and she's kept any curiosity in check about what I used to do for Fire and the War. "So he was--she was trying to drag you back?"

"At first." And I could leave at it nothing more than a coworker taking my betrayal personally, but lying to my best ally is a bad plan. "I'd talked her out of it by the time you showed up."

"How?"

I don't make this out to be any bigger than it is: Nik will take care of that on her own. "Regan's my ex-girlfriend. More or less. We never officially broke up, but the part where I ran Renegade did imply that."

"She's _what_?" What a surprise, Nik's offended and indignant. "You used to--with _that_?"

"I am a demon. Is it that surprising that I had friends who were too, at one point?"

"But you don't like demons," Nik points out.

"Neither do you, and yet here we are. There are always exceptions." I scrape flaking paint off the guard rail, one tiny bit of destruction and decay at a time. "If you'd waited a few more minutes, I could have walked out of that situation."

"You were bleeding--"

"Only a little. If Regan wanted to kill me, I would've been dead before you arrived." I poke her in the shoulder, not sure how to express my concern under the circumstances. "Do you need to get that host back soon?"

"This long gone, with clothes to replace and no explanation of why I disappeared... I'm going to take the dissonance hit either way." Nik stares at her bloody hands. "Might as well hang onto the body a while longer. It's convenient. Easier to talk this way."

"Easier to stab people, I noticed. I didn't even know you had that attunement."

"I don't get my hands on swords very often anymore. Not since Judgment took--not in a while." Nik puts one hand over mine, saving a few lonely paint flakes from an ignoble death. "I'm sorry to jump in and...let her know what I was. It's going to get back to the War now, isn't it?"

"Given that you can't kill her, and I couldn't let you if I knew you meant to? Yeah. If I'm lucky, they'll assume it was...momentary. Wrong place at the wrong time, or some brief joint project between the two Words."

"And at worst, they're going to think you've run to Heaven." Nik sounds glum now, which isn't as satisfying as my earlier irritation would have expected. "Oh, I was so _mad_. I should know to keep my distance, especially once you get them to stop and let you talk, but I thought... I don't know what I thought. That I could come rescue you."

"It was a good rescue. Very impressive. Unnecessary, but impressive." Her host's fingers are warm over mine in the cold air, and I connect the dots regarding dissonance, Nik's attitude, Nik's habits, what I need, what I want. "When we're done with this, we need to do something about that dissonance."

"Maybe I can go to that Flowers Tether, work it off. Like I did last time." Nik rubs the back of her neck, not meeting my eyes now.

"Iris is an amazingly patient Mercurian, but he has his limits. I'm not sure how he'll take a second visit in three months."

Nik shrugs. "So I'll get another lecture. What's the worst he's likely to do? I mean, _Flowers_."

"Call up Judgment and ask them to take you into custody for your own good? Even Flowers won't look kindly on a pattern of acquiring dissonance in an Outcast angel." Nik's hand twitches when I bring up Judgment. "Look, I'm worried about how often you've been taking dissonance, and I'm a demon. Think about it."

"Worried because you care, or because a Shedite's not as useful to you as a Kyriotate?" Nik pulls her hand away, and for a moment she looks the way she did when we first met: hostile, suspicious, and entirely unaware of how well I know that she's terrified.

"Nikostratos. I don't want to partner with any Shedite, I don't want Sean breathing down my neck over being a bad influence on you, and I don't want you becoming as miserable as you'd need to be to actually Fall. More to the point, Discord is inconvenient, and you're looking to gain more of it if you're not careful. So. Be more careful."

"If I lose a host, I end up with another note of dissonance. If you lose your vessel, you end up in Limbo. I consider it a fair trade." She really doesn't get it, and I _am_ worried now, but at least she's backed away from the hostility to a condescending air. "It's not like I haven't considered the risks. Even if I was...too hasty, this time. What if that Balseraph comes back?"

"She won't until the mortal authorities have been dealt with," I say, but I'm wondering that myself. We shut up to watch the truck rumble back up the road, until Ferro turns off the ignition and steps out.

"Got the mice," it says. "And everything else from the room. The alley's full of cops, but the ambulance was gone by the time I arrived." It doesn't go far from the truck, watching the trees along the road as if they might swoop down and swallow machinery for intruding. "You two done talking, or should I drive around and pretend I'm still on the way?"

"I think we're done," I say. Nik didn't tell me Fer was almost back. If she wasn't bothering to watch the ethereal while it was out... I don't want to think about that. A Kyriotate focusing on one host is not a good sign, but I don't have time to deal with this right now. Other things first. "Did you find a phone?"

Fer passes me a cheap cell phone without a word, and watches the trees for signs of attack.

Nik collects a mouse from the car, and deposits herself in that host into my jacket pocket while I pull the number out of my currently headache-marred memory and dial. Three rings, and there's that faintly breathless voice. "Hello?"

"Hi, Al. It's Leo." I wear a bright smile to let it show through in my voice, and Nik gives me a wary look from her human host. "I just have a quick question or two, if you have a moment free."

"Always time for you," Al replies, "but please, call me Abigail. What do you Need?" I can hear the capitalization of that word, as if she's a Lilim herself.

"Abigail. I was wondering, did you have anyone from the War stop by this week?" I am bright, I am cheerful, I am a little ray of sunlight in this cold, cloudy day. Nik watches from the guard rail, and settles herself comfortably around my hand in my pocket.

"Leo, you know I can't talk about other clients. Why do you ask?"

A sharper note of cheer, now. "I was wondering because I just ran into a former coworker, the kind that takes changes in employment personally, that I hadn't seen in some time. I wouldn't bring it up, except that she mentioned my recent purchases, and, well. There's only one place I've been shopping."

I can hear the corresponding edge under her warm, liquid voice. "My standards apply to you the same as anyone else, if that's what you're asking. I don't reveal client details to anyone, no matter what's offered. It's bad for business."

"Of course you don't. You wouldn't still be _in_ business if you did." I'm pacing now, round and round the truck while Fer and Nik watch me. "But you have humans working for you."

"They hold to the same rules."

"I'm sure. But when you have Habbalah, Impudites, Shedim, and Balseraphs running through there... Well. You can see why I'm wondering."

A long pause, though I can still hear her breathing on the other end. "It is possible," she says, and Abigail does not want to say this, but working with Lilim gives one a certain necessary level of integrity. "You realize I can't confirm--"

"No, that's okay. I understand." Regan's an arrogant bastard at the best of times, but she knows how to apply her resonance. Or for all I know it was some other Servitor of the War, and news got back to her through the usual channels. "I only needed to find out if that _could_ be the connection. It was either that or Marie selling me out, and I didn't want it to be the latter."

"That much of a problem, then." It's not quite a question.

"I didn't leave my last employer in the most graceful way possible." I pace back past Nik's human host, still bloody but no longer pierced or bleeding. My fault, this time around, even if she was the one to charge into danger without any call for help from me. It's an angelic response, I suppose, to give help where it hasn't been requested yet. "It's awkward because current contracts require that I stay in the area a few more days. But I'm sure I can work around the problem." Wait for it, wait for it...

"I'm sorry," Abigail says. She's good at sounding sincere. "Was your base of operations compromised?"

"Compromised to Gehenna and back, but fortunately we didn't lose any important supplies." I open a conversational door, and wait to see if she's going to walk through or ignore it.

"Awkward, though. Mm. I do feel...slightly responsible, for what happened. If you'd like, I could offer a temporary residence for you, until the conclusion of this contract. It's not _entirely_ secure, but your enemies should have no good reason to suspect you'd be there." A step better than I expected. Either this Calabite is trying to set me up, or she finds my demolitions designs more attractive than I imagined.

My grin's turned genuine. "You're amazing, Abigail. That would help. If you don't mind a motley crew in the space for a few days..."

"It can't possibly be worse than the time I had three Shedim of Death borrowing the place. I'll give you the address, and meet you there in two hours with the keys." In two hours the sun will have gone down, and certain skin tones won't be apparent to casual observers through the window of a speeding car.

The directions are simple enough that I pass them on to Ferro as soon as the phone's turned off, sure that it can remember them for a span of a few hours. "And that's the good news, kids. We have a place to stay again."

"With the demon," Nik says pointedly.

"Courtesy of our munitions supplier. Don't worry, you don't have to make polite conversation, especially if you keep to a mouse in a pocket again." I throw an arm over her human host's shoulders. "We have time to get this host home before we go."

"No, I'll hold onto the host," Nik says. Perhaps she's only reluctant to feel the dissonance when she moves out of this host, and maybe it's something else entirely. That's one more piece of data I'm not happy to see. "Easier to explain another warm body than the mice, and we don't want anyone paying close of attention to Fer." Ferro, for its part, takes no offense at the comment, nodding along with Nik's words.

"Makes sense," I say, and it does, if not the sort of sense I like. I pull Nik-the-mouse out of my pocket, and set her on the hood of the truck. "I need to make another call. I'll be back in a bit. Don't let Fer get into trouble while I'm gone."

"A call you don't want me listening in on." Nik puts her mouse host back in the pockets of the torn jacket her human host wears. "That Calabite again?"

"Maybe." She frowns at me, but I give her a level look. "I'll be back soon. And I'm sure you'll notice if anyone goes running off into the woods in my direction."

"It's your funeral," Nik says, surly but compliant, and I can live with that combination. She sits down on the hood of the truck, legs crossed, and picks at the loose threads around the holes from Regan's sword. "Don't be long."

Too close to an order for comfort, but I ignore that and swing over the guard rail to stomp down the incline and into the trees beyond. I want enough space that Nik can't "accidentally" overhear. When I'm far enough through the trees that even bare branches are enough to keep me out of sight of the car, I pull out the cell phone. One bar of signal will have to do. I punch out the memorized number.

"Hello." I'd recognize Iris's voice anywhere, though I mostly hear it on phones.

I lean against a tree; it's not as comfortable as a good wall. "Hey. It's Leo."

"Ahah." The Mercurian's in the kitchen; I can tell by the way his footsteps sound on the wooden floor, and the distant hiss of a tea kettle. This many months of looking over my shoulder for someone come to grab me, and I'm getting better at picking up the little details like that. It's not that I'm edgy, only...cautious. Paying more attention to my surroundings. He pulls out a chair, wooden legs scraping against the wooden floor, and settles himself down. "What brings you to call the Tether this time?"

"It's about Nik." If I were there, he'd offer me a bottle of the best beer I've ever had, and lean back in his chair, bushy white eyebrows and polite expression waiting for elaboration. I'm not fond of angels, and Flowers is so full of peace and joy it sets my teeth on edge, but Iris is not uncomfortable to be around. When I haven't recently threatened one of his Wordmates, that is. If he were given enough reason to hurt me, I believe he could.

"She's taken another note of dissonance?"

"She will once she lets go of this host."

"And you want permission for her to work it off here." There's not quite accusation in that tone, but neither is it easy acceptance.

"Not quite. Though I'm going to suggest that to her, as soon as we're done with our current business." I lean my head back, and consider how many different people I'll upset if Nik does what I ask her to. Sean, for one, won't take the news well, if only for security reasons. "She's becoming more careless with hosts. She's been taking to human hosts more often. Between the two, she's going to pick up more dissonance. And she's...focusing. Keeping to one host, or all her attention in a single place."

"You're concerned." He means to use a neutral tone, but I haven't spent this many years watching people for signs of danger to miss his own concern beneath it.

"Wouldn't you be? If I were you, I'd be wondering if hanging around with a demon has been a bad influence on her. She's been Outcast for years, but only started to slip with me here." Nik told me that all the dissonance she took that sent her Outcast was Word-dissonance, and deliberate. That the only host she'd lost since then was the granted body she'd been given by attunement, belonging to no one but her. Now I wonder what she might have left out of her history, which I've so carefully not asked about. I'm not trying to press her into further dissonance, but maybe angels aren't meant to spend time with demons. God's subtle way of saying "No!" and smacking angels across the nose with a newspaper if they start to think too well of my kind.

"It's a reason for concern," Iris says, so neutral I can't tell why--oh. Because he's not certain of my motivations. I must have my own selfish reasons for bringing this to his attention, right?

I'm sure I do, even if I'm not entirely clear on them.

"Right, reason for concern. Look, Iris, I need to _do_ something about this, and I'm not in a position to work out how to handle a dissonant angel. This is outside my area of expertise."

"Your area of expertise being more that of architecture and literature," Iris says, and I honestly can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not.

"Along with sniper rifles and demolitions, yes. Dissonant Kyriotates? Not so much." I find myself stalking around the tree, trying to put my thoughts in order. This made more sense in my head before I called. "I'm not even familiar with Shedim. So let's get to the point that we've been dancing around. If Nik keeps being this careless, she'll end up a bundle of Discord or Fallen, and don't ask me to give an opinion on which is worse. Neither of us is in favor of this, and while this isn't _your_ problem, you're the one who's full of selfless concern for all God's creatures, so tell me, Iris, what should I do about this?"

"If I give you an answer, what are you going to do, Leo? Are you really willing to take orders from me?" Clever, and to the point. There's a reason I like Iris.

"Orders, no, I'm not so good with those. I'm willing to give due weight to any suggestions you might have." I try for casual cheer, and I think achieve it, as if this doesn't bother me the way it does.

"And what if my suggestions involve you giving up the useful tool you've found?"

I can live without having a Kyriotate in my pocket to watch over me. It's more dangerous, but I've done it before. Sean won't be happy, but I've dealt with him when he was angry before. Granted, I did so with Nik's help, and there was a lot of running involved. "Then I'll take that into account. What do you believe I should do, Iris?" I realize what I've just said, and amend more hastily than sounds graceful, "About Nik."

Iris chuckles; he caught that. "I believe you should come back to the Tether for a much longer chance to talk, Leo. Katherine misses you, and Ling would like to speak with you again."

"And Perle would like my head on a spike, but is too much Flowers to say so directly, yes. But it's Nik I'm asking about, here."

He pushes the chair out, pours tea from the kettle, and it's oddly soothing in these cold woods to listen to little domestic noises taking place hundreds of miles away. "Send her to the Tether to work off the dissonance, and tell her to speak with me about the matter."

"She'll expect a lecture," I say, and don't add, when what you'll bring is Judgment.

"I'm not asking you to lie to her."

"Yes. You are. Lies by omission still count in the court of law, don't they? The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You don't have to tell me what you intend for me to understand it." I've paced myself to the edge of a stream, ice caught along the edges but still flowing through the muddy earth. "I'll send her there. Easy enough to talk her into it, when she's done so before."

"I'm sorry," Iris says. He doesn't have to fill his voice with sincerity, because I already know it's there. Milk splashing into a teacup, waiting for the tea. I could use a beer.

"Why? You're getting an Outcast angel away from a bad influence, and with any luck setting her towards reconciliation with Heaven. Why should you be _sorry_?" I sound angry, but I feel tired, as if I could run out of energy and need sleep like any human does. At the end of this contract, I'll send her off to Flowers, and then it'll be me watching over my shoulder and trying to keep Ferro from doing anything stupid. I can work with this, I can. I'm clever enough to manage, and if I'm not, it'll be a learning experience.

Iris pours tea into milk, stirs in sugar. Odd that I should be able to tell so much from what carries over the phone. "Leo, has it ever occurred to you that she might be as much of an influence on you as you've been on her?"

With most people, I'd toss off a casual denial, but coming from him, I think about it first. "Not really. I set the rules, and make accommodations when she feels strongly about a matter. An angel turns Outcast for not being sufficiently angelic, but a Renegade only has to be unwilling to follow the rules of his Prince. The situations aren't parallel."

"Be that as it may, I don't know that the Calabite I met the first time would so easily give up a useful companion."

I crouch down by the stream, and watch dead leaves floating away. If Katherine were here she'd be poking at it with sticks already, and demanding to know why only parts are ice, and where it goes, and where it starts, and could you set water on fire if you got it hot enough. "You're looking for signs that aren't there, Iris. Call it enlightened self-interest, but don't try to make this out to be more than it is."

"Will you bring Nik here yourself, when you send her?"

Sean's already going to be annoyed, and with the possibility of Judgment showing up, I'm not willing to risk it. Servitors of Flowers are sweet and kind and patient and peaceful, and would have no problem with turning me over to captivity and coercion if they believed it was for my own good. "I have other appointments." I stand up, flex cold fingers. "Thank you."

A sip of tea to justify a pause. "I'll see you another time, then," Iris says, gently but with all the sure confidence of any Seraph proclaiming the truth. And who am I to say I know better than a Seneschal whose age can likely be expressed as a factor of mine?

"Maybe," I say, and hang up.

Back at the truck, Nik deposits her mouse host in my pocket before saying anything. I'll have no chance at privacy with Abigail by the time we get there. "What was all that about?"

I pass the phone back to Ferro for safe-keeping. "That was known as me working out a chance for you to go work off dissonance at that Flowers Tether again. Expect a lecture from the Seneschal, and you'll be lucky to get off with only one."

"I've been lectured before," Nik says. "I'll live." Her fingers twist into mine, warmer than my own. "If we have to spend more time with this Calabite, can we stop for food somewhere on the way?"

"Eating is unnecessary," Ferro observes, climbing back into the truck.

"But it calms me down," Nik says. "Some place that serves breakfast all day. I could go for pancakes."

"Sure," I say, and climb into the back seat, dig through old pieces of clothing for something less bloody her host can wear. "Anything you want, Nik."


	10. In Which I Am Selfish

The house is small, but the basement's enormous, as large as the first floor and the yard put together. Nik and Ferro staked out their respective territories down there after we unpacked the truck, hostile glances flickering back and forth as "there are rats in the walls" comes into conflict with "the truck is parked here." For my part, I've fled upstairs, if accompanied by a Nik mouse in my pocket, to watch Abigail and enjoy the warmth of a place with central heating.

"The kitchen's not stocked," she says, "but who needs food? The reception's only good for three channels, if you want to watch television."

"I'll stay away from it, and let it keep working." I'm not that fond of Nybbas's big thing. I follow Abigail from room to room as she points things out, and suspect she doesn't always do a tour for people using this place. "You keep this house for clients who need a place to bolt for a few days?"

"Mm, yes. Usually Theft, which is convenient because I know they won't stay long"--a brief apologetic look, which amuses me--"but from time to time, all sorts of people."

I follow her through linked bedrooms, through the room where all the security cameras are hooked up to monitors (I'll stay away from there, too), through a living room that looks both well-designed and sterile. People only pass through here, and I'd guess that other Renegades have bargained for a week of lying low. A Renegade, an Outcast, and an ethereal... I'm not sure we're even unique in that combination. "A long way from Lust," I say.

"Life is strange," Abigail replies, and she takes a seat on a couch, one brief movement of a hand to spread her hair out in tangle-free waves behind her. I take my own seat on a chair opposite her, the coffee table between us and Nik squirming in my jacket pocket. "I wouldn't have thought when I was poor sweet Abigail, the merman's daughter and very expensive whore, that some day I'd be selling explosives on behalf of busy Lilim. But it's a profitable business, and given the few ways in which I might remain on Earth and not return to Hell..." She shrugs with only one shoulder, graceful and distinct.

"I've never been much concerned about _returning_ to Hell," I say, voice drier than I intended. These days my natural Discord is as much a tool as a hindrance, but I do have lingering resentment. "Though there are people who'd differ on this opinion."

Abigail tilts a hand in the air. "I can see reasons for concern," she says, and that's enough of a rebuke to remind me to drop the subject, when she's already apologized so nicely. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Beer, if there's any available." If she offers me whiskey, I'm going to find an excuse to check on Ferro and Nik's work downstairs.

But she only smiles, and returns a moment later with two bottles of beer. Nothing fancy, but not the colored water so many people in this country drink, either. She snaps the cap off her bottle with a thumb, and resonates it into dust as it's still falling towards the table, smiling at me.

I've never been fond of my own Band. It occurs to me that I've been meeting the wrong representatives. I open my own beer, dispose of the cap the same way, and lean back. "Do all your clients come filtered through Lilim?"

"The first contact for each of them, yes. It's a small Geas for the introduction, and if they're unwilling to pay that much, they can't afford my prices. Afterwards, some return for later projects." The beer bottle looks strange against her black lips, beneath mother-of-pearl fingernails. The gloss of those reminds me of Regan's scales, a green so dark they're nearly black. "I find working for Lilim to be comfortable. They keep their word to the precise limit of their promises, and that's reliable, which I trust further than honorable."

"I had enough of honor working for the War." I wonder what it would be like to work for Freedom, or Freedom's children. Probably much like working for War via Trade, given my talents. "Contracts seem like a better idea."

"I'll admit to curiosity about your contract," Abigail says. "But I'm sure it's confidential, so I'll just have to suffer." Her grin's less practiced that her elegant smiles, and I like it better. "Will you be ready in time, with this new delay?"

"I allowed for delays, so it should be fine. Barring...unforeseen circumstances." I find myself rewording my sentences as I speak to her. Interesting. I only ever worried about stumbling over a corner of Regan's ego, when talking to my ex-girlfriend. "There might be some trouble depending on who we need to work around when placing the explosives, but there are ways to deal." Leave any human behind to supervise our work in the building, and Nik can possess them. Leave a celestial behind... That gets more complex, but I have a few tricks ready, including sending Fer off to create a ruckus of disturbance nearby and drawing aware types away.

"I'm sure Marie wouldn't hire you for the job if you weren't up to the challenge," Abigail says, and I'd like to think that's not flattery. The room's turning warm as the central heating hums through the grates.

"If her ability to judge skills is as good as my skills are, we should be fine." This is not a single beer going to my head: this is me around someone pleasant and amiable who doesn't leave every expression of sympathy, affection, or interest with an unspoken _Except, you're a demon._

"If your skills at your task are as good as her ability to judge a person, you'll be fine." Abigail smirks back at me over her beer. "She's been doing this a long time."

"Then I'll trust her good judgment." In every contract, there comes a point at which I realize the person who's hired me could turn on me, and I'd have no way out. That's the way of contracts, and what I sign up for every time I agree to one. I'm trusting Nik to the mercy of Judgment, and did she sign up for that when she agreed to help me? I don't want to think about that right now, and so I'm not going to. I finish my beer, and smile across the coffee table at Abigail, who's strange and inhuman and beautiful in a way completely different from any Balseraph.

"I suppose the others will be busy downstairs for a while," Abigail says, and stands up. I follow to my feet, leaving the bottle behind. "Or are they nearly done?"

"They'll be busy a while longer." I take off my jacket, Nik and all, and drop it on the chair behind me. I probably ought to have some witty remark to use here, but I spent too long being jumped by Regan whenever she was in the mood to have developed good lines.

"It'll suffice," Abigail says. We don't need a good line, do we? I follow her into the bedroom, where there are no cracks in the floorboards small enough for a mouse to wiggle through, and I lock the door.


	11. A Flashback, In Which Nothing Of Importance Happened

Holly had been working at the office for three weeks before she found the courage to do more than say hello to people as they passed, or hand off messages. It wasn't the worst place she'd ever worked, and the pay was good, but the whole company seemed so...unfriendly. The grouchy woman who ran the place most of all, but everyone who had an office down the hall seemed unpleasant or unhappy or just plain _creepy_.

Except for Leo, who seemed unhappy too, but who smiled at her on the way back from lunch.

She knocked on the door to his office, waited for the surly "Come _in_ , already," and stepped inside. He didn't look up when she entered, all his concentration on the computer monitor on his desk. It was...smoking. Leo snarled under his breath at the machine, muttering something she couldn't make out.

Holly took the brief unobserved moment to look over the man. Not striking, but not bad-looking either, in an unkempt way one often saw in men who lived alone. There was something endearing about his messy hair, that wasn't artistically rumpled but only in need of combing.

And when he looked up, his irate expression smoothed out into something friendlier, and, she told herself, more genuine. Personal. Like he was looking at her as a person, and not just the receptionist. "Morning, Holly," he said, more nicely than anyone else in the office ever Did. "What's up?"

"The boss asked me to go pick up a few sandwiches from the deli, since the guys on the Helman project are working through lunch." Not so much asked as barked out an order, but there was no need to dwell on rudeness. "So I figured as long as I'm going there anyway, want me to pick up something for you too? I mean, it's no more trouble, and since I'll be there anyway..." She found herself tangled up in the words, but Leo's smile saved her.

"That'd be great. Thanks for the thought. I was planning on working through lunch and getting an early dinner, but this'll make things easier."

The phone in reception rang, and Holly blanched. "Oh, I need to get that--"

"I'll drop off an order on your desk before you head out. Don't worry about it." He waved her out of the office with that smile still turned on, and she ran for the phone, threw herself into the chair and yanked up the receiver.

He did remember to drop a note on her desk, a quick grin for her and nothing more while she was in the middle of a conversation with a contractor. And he picked out all the little red candies from the bowl she'd put out on her desk, before returning to his office.

There was no time to talk when she dropped off the sandwiches, not with Leo muttering his way through some work at the drafting table. He had nice hands, not like the man who leered at her every time he walked by her desk.

Holly took phone calls for the rest of the day, and stared blankly at the door.

At five o'clock, she set the phone to night ring, packed up her purse, and pulled together enough courage to stop by Leo's office again. "Working late?"

He looked up from a set of blueprints spread across his desk. "There's always more work to do," he said, and smiled. The edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and her mother had always told her that's how you tell when a smile is sincere. "Besides, if I don't get this project done on time, Ylva will break my kneecaps."

Holly giggled. He could say that with such a straight face. "You'd probably get away with just a broken leg. Enough to keep you stuck in the office."

"Maybe so." He seemed like a decent enough guy, and there was nothing wrong with dating coworkers if you didn't work _directly_ with them, right? She smiled back at him, and thought, ask me out. Ask me out. But he only said, "Thanks again for lunch. At this rate I'm not going to be getting out of here until after eight, so I'd rather not be waiting _that_ long to eat."

"Happy to help," Holly said, and that was as far as she could take the conversation. "See you tomorrow?"

Leo gestured at the stacks of papers he had yet to deal with, already back to focusing on the blueprints. "No doubt. Good night, Holly."

"Good night," she said, and closed the door behind her. There was a dog waiting at home to be walked. Other things to do. Other things to think about than how she couldn't manage anything properly.

Besides, it had only been a few weeks. There was plenty of time to work something out.


	12. In Which I Really Don't Need More Complications, Not That This Stops Them From Appearing

The lawyer supervising the process is a very junior member of the firm, judging by age, lack of confidence in his own arrogance, and the way he keeps glancing over his shoulder in case some senior member should appear. "That's an awful lot of equipment," he says, trying to imply he knows more about the extermination business than I do. Now that I've run through the printouts Nik made for me, that's unlikely.

I offer an amiable smile as Fer stomps by with yet another case, carefully labeled with warning signs for being toxic to humans. As opposed to, let's say, warning signs for being highly explosive. "Well, you don't want the mice to be back in three weeks, do you?"

"No, but...is all of this necessary?" Fer's dropped off the latest case, and hurries back past us to grab another. I follow this time, with the lawyer trailing along behind and trying to look like he isn't. "I was expecting some rat poison, that sort of thing..."

"Mr. Goring," I say, and clap him on the shoulder of his immaculate business suit with a not very clean hand. He twitches. "Let me tell you something about mice. You have one mouse in a house, you set out bait, get rid of that one mouse, maybe, or its cousin, brother, that kind of thing. A month later, you have another mouse, you get rid of that one. Wonder why it takes so long? Because you have whole nests of them in there, and you're only picking off a few of the weak ones. Never got rid of them in the first place. You want a thorough job where they won't be coming back, well, that's where people like me come in." I pick up a case from the truck in either hand, and turn right back towards the building. "Don't worry. Shouldn't take long."

"But you're already late," the lawyer wails, following me. "It's nearly five o'clock, and you were supposed to come at one."

"Can't be helped." Somehow, I don't feel guilty about harassing some human who drives expensive cars and wears shiny shoes. "Job before this turned out to have rats on top of the roaches--not literally on top, I mean, just both at the same time--so that took most of the day." I set down my cases beside the stack Fer has been building, right by the stairs to the basement. "Look on the bright side! We're willing to work late to get this done today, instead of coming back for a new appointment next week, because we stick to our commitments like that."

"Stay late," repeats the lawyer, faintly. "How...considerate."

I slap the lawyer on the back, leaving a handprint right in the center of his gray suit. "Hey, don't worry," I say. "No need to wait on us. We can take care of this, lock up, turn the alarm on when we leave. Done it before!"

He grits his teeth, and fails to notice Ferro's eye-roll as the ethereal hauls a case by. "I can't leave the building unoccupied while non-employees are here," the lawyer says, and it's not hard to tell he desperately wishes this weren't true. Poor boy, forced to watch the hired help on a Friday evening. My heart bleeds for the guy, except for the part where I'm sympathetic. I worked later hours than this back when I had a Role, and I got paid a lot less to do it.

"I understand completely," I say, with a cheerful dumb smile. "Don't worry, then. We always take the time to do the job right, but it should only be a few hours!"

The way his expression falls is more entertaining than it has any right to be.

It takes all of twenty minutes before I've convinced the man that he's the one making the decision to leave the building to us, with strict instructions on which door to lock on the way out. The instant the door shuts behind him, I lose my dopey smile and pull Nik out of my pocket. "Full building sweep. Check the bathrooms, and all the private areas we weren't supposed to notice in the plans." She scurries down my leg to get to it. "Fer! Start moving boxes into position. Call me if you forget any of the places."

"I don't forget things," Fer says indignantly.

"Lovely. In that case, if I've been unclear in my instructions so that with your perfect memory you're still foggy on a step, _call_." I pound down into the basement three steps at a time before Fer can be sulky. I don't have time for distractions now, not when I'm hitting the endgame.

The enormous safe waits in the center of the maze of filing cabinets, shiny and solid. If I were really the Magpie I keep claiming (and no doubt that's going to get me into fresh trouble one of these days), I'd know how to get through a safe like this. Not my skill set, that. I press my hand to the side of the safe, right near the hinges, and think, _break_.

No disturbance, thanks to my old master's attunement. No visible progress, either, but I would have known if my resonance had failed. I keep my hand there, and stretch entropy out towards the metal. Break. Break. Break.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the safe has turned into a tangle of edge-frayed cracks. My head feels bouyant, like I've been walking through a burning building full of smoke. Shouldn't try to resonate things for that long at a stretch. Fer pauses by me, holding one of the cases. "Still not open?"

"Humans and glass are easy to break." I'm not used to feeling this _tired_. I suspect it's more psychological than physical. "This many inches of solid metal designed to resist more mundane attacks, no. But I'm getting there."

"We could leave it alone," Fer says, and there's an odd note to its voice that I finally identify as sympathy. "Contract was only for the building, right? Can't hold it against you that the safe survived if they didn't specify in the contract."

I shake my head. "I want to know what's in here. If they want the building gone, they want this gone, and I don't want to be remembered as someone who looks for loopholes in contracts." I press both hands to the door of the safe. Complex, solid, built to resist the most determined thief.

I'm not a thief. But I'm dreadfully curious. I let entropy and inevitable decay slide through the door, the concentrated force of what keeps me locked in my vessel, ruining everything I touch, unable to kill or let even my enemies be killed. It's no wonder I love using my resonance: it lets me express all the Discord wrapped around me, and send the wrongness of it through something else.

The door crumbles to metal dust and shards at my feet. "See?" I say, and grin at Fer, who's still holding the case easily in one hand. Takes me two hands to lift those things. For a creature of the Marches, it's more solidly connected to this place than I am. "It only takes some time and patience. Near done yet?"

"Halfway there," Fer says, and goes back to hauling explosives.

I sort through the stacks inside the safe as Fer continues working, with a brief pause for Nik's report back about the building being clear. Boxes of papers on this legal case or that. Useful to the right people, but I'm not trained in matters of law. These get spread out on the floor around me. They'll go up in smoke and flames like everything else once I'm done.

The bottom layer is where I hit the jackpot. I open a box and find myself looking at a very nice sniper rifle, disassembled and laid neatly into its case. Tempting, but I set it behind me. The next box holds another. The box after that holds more papers, this time in Helltongue. I suppose it's nice to know that I'm not giving anyone in Heaven further reason to look for me. Last I checked the only ones who were annoyed with me personally were Judgment and Stone--maybe Fire on the outside--and neither of those have turned up lately.

"That's that," I say, and stand up again, stretching my arms. Nik goes sniffing about on the floor of the now-empty safe. "Fer, how's the wiring going?"

"I _know_ wires," the ethereal responds from across the room, its voice thin and irate. "Stop bothering me and I'll be done in ten minutes."

"Good to hear." I rub the back of my neck and consider the safe. With all the contents out, the remaining walls shouldn't provide enough cover to keep anything whole within the explosion now. My hands itch to go oversee the wiring, but like as not I'd botch the job by dripping too much entropy around delicate connections. Fer finds machinery as familiar as I do fire, and it would be stupid to micromanage.

Nik squeaks at me from the floor of the safe, standing up on tiny hind legs to wiggle her nose. I crouch down to see what she's looking at. "So what did I miss?"

A sliver-thin crack on the floor of the safe. I wedge one fingernail into it, and push in the direction it wants to slide. The whole floor slips back half an inch, then up as the hinges settle into place. Nik scrambles off the rising trapdoor to cling to my arm, squeaking cheerfully. "Oh, _nice_ work, Nik."

Beneath the false floor is a solid-looking locked trapdoor. It takes all of one try to dissolve the lock, and then I pry that door up as well. No wonder this safe is so large; I can step inside with barely the need to bend over, now that the contents are out, and take the steps down. Nik rides my shoulder and stares forward into the dark space below, ready for danger. Couldn't ask for a better companion at my side.  
 It's going to hurt to send her away. But I'm not thinking about that right now.

The room beneath the safe is cement lined with noise-muffling carpet. Bare patches of cement on the wall hold metal plates with rings for chains to be attached to. In the far corner, nearly invisible in the unlit room, a single lump.

Which moves.

I am thinking all sorts of terrible profanity in Helltongue, which I will not voice because of the Kyriotate's delicate sensibilities. "Hey, Nik, what kind of odds do you think there are that we've run into a stronghold of the Game?" She squeaks sadly at me. "That's what I thought." I stride forward, and yank up the huddling figure. "And who are _you_?"

Whoever this one is, celestial or human or ethereal, she's shorter than I am and speaks with a hiccuping voice. "Elektra. P-punisher of Dark Humor." She cringes away from my automatic glower. "What do you want?"

"What do I want? What I _want_ is to get this damn contract done with as quickly as possible, but I keep running into complications." I follow the chains attached to the shackles on her wrists to where they're attached to the wall, and convince the concrete around that particular metal plate to stop holding together so well. "Come on." She follows along quickly, and I don't know if it's from having obedience beaten into her by the Game, or because those links around her wrist are Will Shackles.

Up in the light of the basement, I haul her out of the safe and turn to have a better look. This kid's vessel looks about high school age, with pale skin and wide blue eyes. She's probably cute to humans her own Role's age, waifish and delicate, though she's also dirty and bruised. One of her hands looks mangled, like all the fingers were broken and then left to heal without being set. "What were you doing down there?"

She's finally worked out that I'm not from the Game, her eyes darting about and resting on Nik. "Played a joke on the wrong person," she says, and if she's not hiccuping anymore, her voice is still hoarse. Probably spent too much time screaming, and her vessel hasn't had a chance to repair the damage. 

"That'll do it." Nik murmurs in my ear, but I can't make out her meaning from a mouse's speaking ability. "How long have you been down there?"

"I...don't know. More than a week. Less than a month. I think." She stares up at me with big blue eyes. "Are you rescuing me?"

"I want nothing to do with Kobalites or Habbalah." Especially one who'll be a bundle of Discord by this point; if she's actually lost track of how many notes of dissonance she's taken, stuck down there, it's closer to a month. I have no idea what kind of inconvenient compulsions she may be carrying. I let go of the chains on her shackles, and consider the possible problems. That's depressing enough that I scale back and consider the most serious and plausible problems. 

If she's Djinn-attuned, I can't send her running into the night, or someone will come looking once they realize she's moved position. That means keeping her here until things are ready to go boom. But courtesy of my own Discord, I can't let her get killed here either, so I need to take her far enough with me to make sure she's safe before letting her go. The truck's not built for more than two passengers, but I'm not sure I want her sitting around where she can tell everyone where we went, either. So. It's a reasonable plan. Get the will shackles off once we're done here, tell her to go running off some other direction, and then leave. 

Not perfect, but it'll do. There's probably some sort of supervisor out there for her, and whether they care or not, they'll take her in. Vessel age and un-Habbalite-like breakdown suggest she's young and Role-building, so they wouldn't let her get too far alone. I think. I'm not up to speed on the administration policies of Dark Humor.

I point to a box next to the safe. "Sit here, and don't run off anywhere, got it?" She nods, and sits promptly. Why couldn't it have been a Djinn, or a Balseraph, or even some idiot Calabite? Impudites and Lilim would be no problem. I could deal with any of those. But Habbalah make me angry and twitchy, none of which I have time to deal with now. "Fer! How's it going?"

"Five minutes," the ethereal calls back, from the far corner of the room. "Stop interrupting me."

I sit down on another stack of boxes, leaning against a file cabinet. "If I took those off you, could you jump back to your Heart?" Not that I'm sure I _want_ the potential for a bunch of Kobalites to show up in here and get creative in the middle of my job, but it would get her off my hands.

"I don't know," whispers the Habbalite, and wipes her nose on her arm. It's no wonder she's locked up by the Game, if she's this pathetic of a Punisher. The Captain I once worked for, or the Seneschal afterward, would have been sneering and making demands by this point, even with a mind-fuzzing artifact wrapped around their wrists, and never stupid enough to get caught in the first place. "Tried, when they first came for me. Didn't make it. I have enough Essence that...I think I could go celestial. Don't think I'd have enough to get to my Heart, too."

I should be comforted that she's so weak-willed as to be no threat to me, but instead I'm annoyed that even pathetic demons like this get to run around on the corporeal with the favor of their Princes, while I'm stuck taking contracts from whoever offers.

A sudden, unpleasant thought occurs to me. Taking down this building will do enough damage to the ground below that it would have crushed that room in the process, and killed this demon. I wonder if Marie knew about this, and wanted this demon wrapped around her Heart in Trauma, over the chance of being dragged back to Hell for interrogation. "Hey." The Habbalite doesn't look up, staring at her wrists. "You. Elektra, or whatever your name was." She starts, and sits up straight to look me in the eye. "Do you know how long they were going to keep you there before taking you back to Hell?" She shakes her head. "Know any Lilim?"

"Um. One." The Habbie's shoulders slump again. "She goes--she went to school with me. I owe her a favor or two. Nothing big. She's a Free, not working for my Prince." The distant look of cunning in her eyes suggests she's wondering how badly I want this information, and what it might be worth to me. "Why do you ask?"

"None of your business." It's a potential connection, but a weak one. Maybe it's nothing but a coincidence. I stand up and leave her there to pace through the basement. A few dozen boxes to observe, and it looks like Ferro's been hooking things up properly; I don't dare open things up and poke around to check.

"Nearly done," Ferro says, as I pass by where it's working on the final case.

"I didn't ask."

"But you were _going_ to." It shakes a length of wire at me. "Go, deal with whatever new stray you dug up. Stop hassling me. I know my job."

I'm not about to argue with anyone handling high explosives and their trigger. I make my way back to where Elektra's still sitting, right where I told her to. I suspect she'd continue sitting there for hours if I didn't give her new instructions.

"I can tell you where other people are," she says, as I slouch against the filing cabinets opposite her. "Role names. Who people work for. Tether locations." Her eyes flicker to Nik again, and it clicks. Didn't she notice when I used my resonance? Maybe not, distracted and terrified as she was. And maybe she wasn't as weak-willed as she pretended, but unwilling to take celestial form in front of people she believed to be working for Heaven. I revised my estimate of her intelligence slightly upward. 

"Now's not a good time," I say, and leave the assumption where it is until I have a better chance to determine if that's useful or a hindrance. She only nods to this, and retreats into silence.

"Finished," Fer says, striding towards me with a smug expression on its face. "Ready to go? Or did you want to talk longer?"

"More than ready," I say, and stand up. I flick a gesture at the Habbie. "Come on. Time to go."

Elektra hurries to my side. "You _are_ rescuing me," she says breathlessly, as if I've shown up with candy and handguns for all.

"I'm getting you out of the way. Don't make it out to be something it isn't." Back up the stairs, then off to the back door. Fer and Elektra bracket me, the ethereal still full of itself and the Habbalite trying to huddle next to me without touching. 

Fer gives me a blank look when I lock the door. "What does it matter?"

"Said I'd lock up behind me, didn't I?" I head for the truck while Fer fiddles with the trigger it carries. "Elektra, show me your wrists." She holds up her hands, and I take a look at the Will Shackles there. Definitely artifacts, but not, so far as I can tell, the kind that can't be broken for love or money. One burst of resonance is enough to break them apart, and she stares dumbly at her own wrists while I pull them off. "There you go. You're as free as you're going to get. Now make a run for it before things start getting messy."

"You're not angels," she says, and her eyes are sharper now, fixed on me. "Take me with you."

"What for? I don't like your Word or your Band." She's cowed enough to not correct me to "Choir" on that, though it does make her lips twitch. "I don't know you, and I have no good reason to drag you along. Go _away_."

"I can't go back to my old Role. They'll look for me there. Take me with you," she pleads, and grabs my arm. "Just until I can get to a Tether. Please."

"What, and be the subject of your pranks until then? I don't need the dead weight." I yank my arm out of her grasp. "Go away _now_ , before I make you."

Elektra takes a step backwards. "They'll find me again," she says.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Nik's silent on my shoulder, choosing not to weigh in on how to deal with a wayward demon, and Fer waits in the truck. "I've done more than enough for you."

Elektra grabs at my hand before I can pull away. "Please," she says, staring up at me. "Only a few days. I need your help."

Poor little Habbalite, desperate enough to admit her own weakness, and my head's still dizzy from working through that safe. By the time I work out what's going on, I've already lost the battle.

I hate Habbalah so much. But right now, I can't even be angry with her. "Come on. We want to be blocks away before this goes off." I haul off to the car with Elektra pounding along behind me, and help her inside. "Fer, let's move it."

"If you keep picking up people along the way, we're going to need a bigger truck," Fer observes, and slams on the gas faster than usual. The sky's long dark at this time of year, but the ethereal chooses to drive without headlights on. "Are we keeping this one?"

"Only for a few days," I say. Elektra's practically sitting in my lap on the truck's bench seat, fingers twisting around mine. "Just until the resonance effects wear off." She frowns up at me, and I sigh. "You need to get out of the way before that happens. As soon as I'm not resonance-fuzzed into loving you, I'm going to be angry. And you know how Calabim get when they're angry."

The Habbalite tries for a smirk, but she's too shaken to have it come across. "What, you're going to--" She cuts off as the roar of the first explosion begins behind us. "What was _that_?"

"That's the job I had to do," I say, and I can feel the Geas I've been wearing turn fuzzy and light as my end of the deal builds on itself. "Fer, take us the long way around back to the safe house."

"Al's going to be pissed that you're bringing in someone new," Fer says, and Nik squeaks in agreement. "Can't we drop her off outside the city limits?"

"Unfortunately, no, we can't. And I can deal with Al." Abigail's dealt with Habbalah often enough, I'm sure, to know what the effects of their resonance look like. If I'm lucky, she'll distract me and find a way to get Elektra off somewhere alone, then send the little brat back to Hell and Trauma when I'm not looking. Of course, now that I'm thinking about this I feel obliged to make sure it doesn't happen, much as I know it would be the better solution. Damn Habbalah to the pits of Sheol, unprotected from the fires there.

"I'll stay out of your way," Elektra promises, cuddling up next to me, and I find my hand running through her tangled hair. "I just needed to stay safe a little longer. I'll leave you alone as soon as I figure out where to go next."

"Stay close," I tell her, and hate myself for knowing what a fool this will make of me. "Get too far away from me, and my companions will make sure you don't get back." Nik bares tiny mouse-teeth down at the Habbalite from a perch on my arm. "Especially stay away from Al. She will kill you if I'm not there."

Elektra nods slowly, eyes darkening as she realizes what new trouble she's found. I let her be a reassuring presence at my side, and consider how to keep myself from hurting her when this resonance wears off. Sometimes life would be easier if I were an idiot, and I could fail to remember to take precautions against myself.

"A Habbalite could be useful," Fer says, turning the headlights on as he stops for a red light. The explosions have stopped, and now I can hear sirens in the distance heading towards the scene. "I mean, if she's along anyway."

"We're not keeping her, Fer. She has a dissonance condition to hold to." Elektra makes a small, sad sound beside me. "Don't worry about it. Just drive."


	13. In Which Delicate Negotiations Occur

By the time we're back at the safe house, Fer putting away the newly stolen sedan and Nik re-caging her mouse hosts, I've gone through a pack of cigarettes, ash tapped out the window and at the convenience store where we stopped to get the sedan. Elektra huddles next to me on the way upstairs, and does not to object to the smell of smoke or any of my other nervous habits. My desire to find out how much she knows and make sure she won't spread it to the wrong people is in fierce competition with the big, stupid cheer of infatuation that's seeped into my brain. So far, the infatuation is winning.

If she knows the wrong things, I'm going to have to kill her when this wears off. Right now, I don't want that to happen. Ergo, I'm going out of my way not to ask the right questions that'd tell me how much she's figured out. This leaves me with no topics of conversation, and a lot of blank silence. Elektra's picked up on my mood well enough to be comforting in a way Habbalah never are, hanging on my arm wherever I go and giving me these strange adoring looks. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if she'd bounced her resonance. "This is your place?" she asks, as I reach the door at the top of the stairs.

"No. We're just borrowing it for the moment, from Al. So if she stops by, be _polite_." This is almost like having Katherine back again, trying to juggle my own needs with the endless stream of instructions to keep her from pissing off some demon and getting killed. Don't tease the Balseraph, don't play with anything belonging to the Djinn, don't accept presents from the Lilim, and for your own sake don't make me angry. I push open the door, and hear the distant babble of the television set. Well, that'll complicate matters nicely. "You do know the meaning of 'polite', right?"

"I can mind my manners." Elektra trails along behind me, given up on the clinging now that there's the promise of strangers ahead.

In retrospect, I should've warned the Habbalite about Abigail's Discord before we walked in, but the resonance makes my thoughts less precise than usual. Elektra's squeak upon seeing the Calabite isn't what I'd call polite.

Fortunately for the both of us, Abigail's used to this sort of thing, and only arches one perfect sea-green eyebrow as we enter. "More coworkers?" she asks, and offers me a beer. She sits at the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table, and another beer in her own hand.

"Not quite." I collapse beside her, leave room for Elektra to sit down at the far end of the couch. "So what's on TV?"

"A _fascinating_ late-breaking news report on a major explosion in the city." Abigail chooses to ignore the Habbalite for the moment. "Not that I needed to the news to tell me that--I could hear it from the warehouse--but the footage is entertaining." The commercials give way to a breathlessly announced bumper claiming more details are coming up soon on new developments. Plus interviews with eye-witnesses! By which I assume they mean people who heard the explosion from a distance, because if there was anyone watching I'm going to have some sharp words to say to Nik about aerial surveillance.

"Sorry I couldn't get it on video for you." I snap off the cap to my bottle of beer, and slide down in the comfort of the warm room and soft couch. Elektra beside me makes everything better, but I'm not about to let on regarding that to either demon. "I was a little busy."

"How long until they track you down, do you think?" That's professional curiosity in Abigail's voice, as we watch a newscaster giddy with the thrill of it all try to maintain a solemn face through her description of events. The smoke hazing the air behind her, past the taped-off police line and flashing lights, sends a satisfying thrill through my chest.

"Depends on how hard they're looking, and how lucky they get in picking up new information." On whether or not they can track down Regan and ask her for help. Eventually, someone else will figure out Sean's trick for finding me. I should make the jump to the Marches as soon as possible, where I can worry about a different set of enemies for the change of pace. "I'd say minimum twenty-four hours before they get a good lead, but I'll be heading out within eight in case I've miscalculated."

"I'd appreciate that," Abigail says. Slick as silk, her voice, but we both know that business is business, and she doesn't need anyone inconvenient stopping by. "Give me a call again once you're some place...distant."

"I can do that." I slide further down on the couch, and take a swig of my beer. It's not often I get to watch the aftermath of my projects set out on TV with a play-by-play recap by professional newscasters. I think the man at the news desk was chosen for his looks and voice, not his talent or brains, but the too-perky woman at the scene veers towards the admiring as she goes through the reconstructed timeline of this terrible, horrifying terrorist attack. She sounds disappointed that there are, as of yet, no reported casualties. "Don't suppose you know what the place was? The contract was vague as to any reasons for why it needed to go boom." Please don't tell me that was a Tether.

"Something to do with the Game. I'm a little fuzzy on the details myself." Abigail is a woman who knows how to drink a beer. If I weren't so distracted with the Habbalite I'm not looking at right now, I could watch that all night.

Well. For the next eight hours.

"Figured as much." So the Game will take my Renegade status more personally. Add up enough enemies, and after a certain point it doesn't make a difference. There are so many ways I could get killed, I've stopped worrying about it until someone's shooting at me. "They weren't fond of me anyway. Will this cause you any trouble?"

Abigail shrugs. "I may need to find a new lawyer, if they can't get their office back together. But lawyers who'll handle small legal matters for a mysterious client who pays well and doesn't want to meet in person are a dime a dozen."

"I blew up your lawyer's office?" I suppress the snicker that rises up at the news. "Sorry."

"It wasn't as if you knew." Abigail smirks at me, then leans over to kiss me lightly on the lips. "Apology accepted."

Elektra makes a small, strangled noise behind me. Abigail pulls away, eyes darker. "You haven't introduced me to your new companion," she says lightly. I'm not fooled for an instant. "Not a coworker, you said?"

"Habbalite of Dark Humor." I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at the kid, make sure my eye-rolling looks properly authentic and not overdone. "I'm told she ran into trouble with the Game, and needed to hitch a ride out. She's only sticking around until we're out of town."

Abigail takes in the Punisher's defiant, clingy body language, my own explanation, all the details I've been trying to set up, and comes to the conclusion I put together for her: silly little Habbalite bounced her own resonance, and now won't let me be. Awkward, but I'm putting up with it for lack of a better idea. "How...generous of you," she murmurs, and then smiles toothily at Elektra. "You can call me Al. And you are?"

"Elektra." With a highly juvenile chin-thrust, as if she has something to prove.

"Convinced her brother to kill her mother and stepfather, in revenge for the death of the father who'd sacrificed her sister to the gods. How _classic_." Abigail turns her attention back to the television. I turn my attention back to the beer, and to working out plans for the immediate future. (It's more difficult than usual, with all my thoughts turning to starry-eyed visions of Elektra. I'm going to be _so_ angry about this once it wears off.)

The news coverage finally away from my project to more mundane issues, all the pieces that got bumped for live footage of what is, quite frankly, not exciting: a smoldering heap of rubble, collapsed neatly inward. "Nice work," Abigail murmurs, on the last live update before the news rolls over to Friday night programming. (Pile of rubble? Check. Still smoldering? Check.) "Damage to the surrounding buildings? The monkeys are still babbling on that point."

"Should be minimal. They were too close to eliminate the possibility, but if there's worse than a broken window, I'd be surprised." I catch the sound of the door to the garage opening, and lean against Elektra to see who's decided to come upstairs. "Nik! I need to talk to you." I set down my beer and make my way out from between Elektra and Abigail. "Working out details," I say, when Elektra moves to stand up as well, and wave her back down. "It'll be just a few minutes." A quick, charming smile to make sure she takes that the right way, and then I drag Nik's human host off to the bedroom for a little privacy.

She's scowling, predictably enough. "Surely you've noticed--"

"That I'm resonated to a complete mind fuzz? Of course I have." Nik snaps her mouth shut again, and darts a glance at the closed door. "Don't tell Abigail. We don't want this to get messy."

"How clearly are you thinking?" Down to business, and that's my Nik at her best. I steer my mind away from dreamy thoughts of Elektra to work this out. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Of course it's a problem. Right now, I have all the reasoning skills of an adolescent boy." I sprawl out on the bed to stare at the ceiling. "More to the point, I need to get Elektra out of my reach now, because otherwise it'll be messy when this wears off. Difficult to do when we're on the move, and when she shows no inclination to leave. I need to figure out how to send her off somewhere _safely_ , without giving her a chance to object. She won't leave on her own, but I can't stay away if she gets a chance to ask me to help her. Suggestions?"

Underhanded of me, to feed Nik her lines this way. "If I dropped off this host," Nik muses, and I don't grin, only stare moodily at the ceiling as if I haven't yet worked out a plan. "You don't think she's a full-fledged demon?"

"Oh, she's a Habbalite, all right, but if you mean having nine Forces, no, probably not. She has all the signs of a very junior demon. Seven, eight tops." I sit up again, blink at Nik. "If you're worried about what damage she might do--"

"No, of course not." Nik knows she can smack down any wimpy little demon who tries to get physical. I know this too, and I'm not so resonance-fuzzed as to have forgotten, but this particular plan will only work if Nik thinks she's coming up with it herself. "It's only... I could try to take over her vessel, and get her out of the way. Except I wouldn't have many Forces left over to watch you."

"I'd want you watching over her anyway," I say, with all the infatuated sincerity I can muster in my voice. "I can take care of myself for a few days, and Fer will be there to help." Cue the thoughtful look. "The problem is stashing her someplace _safe_. If the Game's after her, she can't go wandering about in the open for long, and you can't run her to a demonic Tether safely yourself."

A moment of hesitation from Nik. I never could have asked her to do this. "The Flowers Tether," she says. "I need to work off dissonance there anyway."

"She's a demon, Nik." Obligatory weak argument to bolster the Kyriotate's determination through uncertainty. "You'd call a Heavenly Tether _safe_?"

"It's the best place she could hide," Nik says firmly, and sits down in my lap, one hand wrapping around mine. "I mean, they're Flowers, and she's...well, she's not a very dangerous demon, anyway. They'll give her a cup of tea and a stern lecture, and try to convert her, but they're not going to hurt her. From that point, if she wants to run off and tempt fate--well, the Game--it's her choice, but I can give her a chance to choose...something else." Poor little Outcast Kyriotate, desperately trying to push everyone else towards the Heaven she lost. 

"If you're sure..."

"I'll take good care of her." A little too fast to promise that, but Nik is responsible enough to carry through with what she's promised. Especially when she expects to come back to me and tell me how it went, afterward. For a Kyriotate, she's lousy at lying. "I can go drop this host off somewhere safe, come back, take care of things. I'll throw in enough Essence to have a good chance of grabbing the vessel from her."

"Be careful." What I mean to say is, be careful until you reach the Flowers Tether, and then please understand why I'm doing this. A Kyriotate who can't stop taking dissonance is no good to me or to itself. 

I'm not sure why I care what Nik thinks about me, when this is all done.

"Safe as houses," Nik says. "Okay, houses that _you're_ not near." She kisses me on the forehead as if I'm a child. "Let's get moving before the wrong sort of people show up to ask about big noises."

Elektra ambushes me before I can get back to the living room, one hand clinging to mine before the door to the garage has even closed behind Nik's host. "What was that about?"

"Business," I say, which is nearly the truth. "Nothing you need to worry about." That's not even within spitting distance of the truth, but even when I'm stupidly, madly in love, I can be practical. Which means getting dear sweet adorable Elektra far, far away. That it takes care of another little project of mine at the same time? That's what we call a perk.

The Habbalite looks up at me through narrowed eyes, and I begin to wonder if paranoia was one of the things she picked up from dissonance building up into Discord on her soul, down in that locked room. Or maybe she's only more perceptive than I would have guessed. "You can't tell even me?"

"It's for your own protection," I say. And for once, that's the truth.


	14. In Which I Figure A Few Things Out

"You're an idiot," Fer tells me, once Nik-in-Elektra is out of earshot. The ethereal stood behind me through the whole thing, as if it needed shielding from the brief war between Kyriotate and Habbalite for headspace. "Getting rid of resources like that."

Elektra walks differently when Nik's inside of the vessel, a brisk, determined stride instead of hesitant slinking around. The part of me that's drowning in Habbalite resonance misses Elektra for not being there, twists with guilt for doing something unpleasant to her, even if it's for her own good. The more rational part of my mind points out that a Kyriotate of the Sword is better able to handle herself than any young demon of Dark Humor, which is more admirable in a companion that the ability to swish one's hips seductively.

I miss Nik already, and she's barely left.

"Would you rather have me spending all my time trying to protect an idiot Habbie?" I grin down at Ferro with more confidence than I feel. "Best to simplify things while we have the chance."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Fer says, but trudges along with me back into the house.

"If you suddenly develop precognitive abilities, let me know. For the moment, keep an eye out for trouble." I find Abigail in the room with all the panels displaying the feeds from security cameras, stalking about with her cell phone out. She's done with the conversation by the time I arrive, snapping it shut with a brief glare I can't interpret. "Marie?"

"That's the one." Abigail moves briskly out of the room, and I follow, Fer lingering further behind. "She wants to meet you immediately, before you pick up a tail from someone she doesn't want to see. I'll give you the address, and you can head out--well, immediately." She's pacing like a caged tiger. Or maybe a caged mermaid, hair streaming behind her as she moves. I press away thoughts of what she'd look like underwater, especially as the warm buzz of Elektra thoughts pale in comparison. "I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer, but circumstances being what they are..."

"I need to keep moving anyway," I say, not that I'm sure anyone believes the story about me working for Theft. I give her a smile I don't feel, confident and friendly. "Thanks for everything, Al. Maybe we'll run into each other again some other job, right?"

"Maybe so. You'd better hurry." She kisses me once, gives me the address I need, and escorts the two of us down to the garage to head out into the night. I don't look back when we drive away. Not once.

"I can get there in half an hour," Fer says. "Twenty minutes if the traffic's good, which it might be this time of night."

"Stop at a convenience store on the way," I say. "I need something to smoke."

The ethereal gives me a sidelong look, eyes narrowed. "You have half a pack left. And we're in a _hurry_."

"Nonetheless. Convenience store." I lean back in the seat, don't dare close my eyes. There's no bird soaring overhead to watch for followers, no mouse in my pocket to look over my shoulder. No Kyriotate who'll come to save me this time. "How are you doing on Essence?"

"Full up. Why? I can loan you a few, if you pay me back later."

"No, hold onto that. We might need a sudden infusion of angry cars."

Fer glides to a perfect stop at a red light, and shifts in its seat to frown at me. "You're expecting trouble."

"We blew up a law firm the Game owned, and ran off with someone they had locked in the basement. Of course I'm expecting trouble."

"More than that," it says, but only shakes its head and continues on as the light flashes green. "I can find a convenience store if you really need more cigarettes. At least you don't put them in your mouth. That's gross."

"Tell me about it." Never could stand the taste of those things. I pull the remains of the current pack out of my pocket, and light one, let it hang out the window. Maybe I should be grateful I can't stop thinking of Elektra, because it means I can't get moody about memories of college days with Regan. The last time I smoked was when I was trying to impress her. Back when I was more stupid and less cynical, and thought that having the attention of a Balseraph of the War was a good thing. I repeat: stupid.

It's nearly midnight, but it's also a Friday, so the gas station has other people at it when we stop there. I step inside, get myself a pack of something cheap, flash the obligatory ID at the clerk. This vessel doesn't look under eighteen, but when I went to all that expense of getting a fake driver's license, the least I can do is use it. "Do you have a pay phone around here I can use?"

"Outside, to the right." The clerk's a skinny kid in her late teens, bored and sleepy, but she still puts on a professional customer service smile for dealing with me. Times like these, I wonder what it would be like to be human. Deaf to the Symphony, ignorant of the War, one shot at life to get your destiny or fate sealed in before you get hit by a bus or fall apart from old age. Theoretically a pawn to the greater powers out there, but from what I've seen of said greater powers, most humans get by fine without any celestial manipulation. There's something to be said for drifting through life, doing the best you can of what the universe gave you, with some choice involved in how it will end.

On the other hand, if I'd been made a human, I would have been a lot dumber and unable to blow things up with sheer force of will, so it's a stupid little fantasy.

At the pay phone, I slot in a few quarters, then dial the number I was when I first met with Marie.

Six rings, and I'm ready to give it up as a bad idea when the phone picks up on the other side. No answer, only waiting.

"I'm wondering," I say, "if you actually called Al about ten minutes ago."

"Why do you ask?" Marie's voice, or someone similar enough to fool me. I can only be so paranoid and still be effective, so I'll assume it's her.

"Because I think your arms dealer has been suborned by the Game. Or possibly the War." I rip pages out of the phone book to keep my voice even. "Unless you _did_ want me to run over to meet with you right now."

The pause stretches out for nearly a minute. I bide my time, turning quarters between my fingers to drop in if needed. "Where?" the Lilim asks. What a cold voice she's acquired.

"The abandoned building next to the vacant lot over on Stanton Street. Sound familiar?" A customer moving into the convenience store catches sight of me shredding the phone book, and glares. I glare right back until he hurries right on in. I'm not in the mood to be bothered. "I don't know if it's voluntary, coerced, or geased, though I'd guess one of the last two." That's wishful thinking, but since it doesn't really matter which, I'll imagine the one that doesn't hurt so much. "She sold me out to the War once already, though I didn't realize it at the time. If she's told you that I'm in a big hurry and want to meet there before skipping town..."

The pause is briefer, this time. "You're probably being followed," Marie says distantly. "Take care of your problems, and if you survive it, contact me again in a month for payment."

"A month? You said--" The line goes dead on me. I slam the receiver back down, the plastic crumbling on the way as my frustration expresses itself through my resonance. "Oh, this is going to be fun." I indulge my temper by letting the rest of the phone book crumble into broken paper fragments, then stalk back to the car.

"Well?" Fer asks, looking up from where it's been carving designs into the dashboard again.

"The Game, or possibly the War, is right on our tail. They're waiting for us to get to the address where Al sent us, to try to grab the Lilim at the same time." If I choose not to mention that Abigail's the one who set us up, well, it's not so much a lie as a half-truth. "If we start heading too far away from that direction, they'll realize we know and jump us _then_." I do not bang my head on the dashboard, no matter how the temptation strikes. "I could use a clearer head right now than a Habbalite fuzz affords me. It's a damn good thing Elektra's going to be far, far away by the time this wears off." And, if she's lucky, surrounded by angels of Flowers who won't let me express myself in the way I'll want to.

"What are we going to do?"

"Good question." I light another cigarette. "Stay below the speed limit, head in the direction of the place we were going to meet, and I'll think of something." A tiny testament to the destructive power of fire, held safely in one hand. I stare at the little red glow. "I hope."

If I were a Servitor of Theft, and didn't have this Discord holding me to my vessel, I'd run back to my Heart right now. The job's done, payment's been deferred. I don't have the luxury of that. At least the lack of fleeing to my Heart won't tip them off to the fact that I'm still a Renegade. For the Game, I suspect the difference between a Renegade and a Servitor of Theft is very slim. And for the War, being a deserter makes all other affiliations moot.

"This would be easier," Fer says, voice sliding back into the unnatural metallic rhythms I've been training it out of, "if you would let me kill them."

"I know."

"Or even assist in killing them."

"I _know_. Why do you think I've been doing all this work for angels? I'm trying to get the Discord removed. I can't do anything about it right now." I don't have enough Essence on me to power my way through it, not more than once with any chance of success. We demons need an iron will to get the Symphony to bend to our resonances, but there's only so much I can do about this kind of Discord. Fighting through it is like trying to swim through caramel.

"Just saying," Ferro mutters. It glides to a gentle stop for a yellow light, taking the subtle delay tactic to heart. "We're not going to walk in there, knowing they're waiting. Are we?"

"No, we're not. We don't have the resources to do an ambush turnaround. Especially when I don't know what we're up against." If it's the War, heavy firepower. If it's the Game, probably something more...sneaky. "Fer, do you still have that set of control bracelets I took off you back when we first met?"

"In the bag next to the cage with the mice." I should be grateful for the amount of trust it's displaying, that it isn't eyeing me suspiciously for the very mention of an artifact designed to make someone pliable. For the moment, I'm too stressed to bother with grateful, so I settle for relieved, and dig through the bags in the back seat.

"There we go." I slap the controller bracelet around my wrist, push it up far enough that it's not visible beneath the jacket sleeve, and drop the matching bracelet into my pocket. "That's one potential threat possibly reduced slightly, if we're lucky. I'm feeling _so_ much better now."

"Sarcasm isn't useful," Ferro says. Its voice turns more inhuman when it's stressed, wires and hammers trying to reproduce language. "Why does this have to be some big confrontation? Why not keep on driving, and lose them somewhere? We have before."

"We've outrun chance encounters, Fer. Not a waiting team." If I'm lucky, this will be the War we're up against. I can deal with heavy weaponry. Possibly by dying, but Limbo isn't as bad as some alternatives. "We need to smack them down hard enough to delay them before we have a chance at running without being caught."

"Without killing anyone."

"Without killing anyone where I can see it. If I don't know you're doing it, I can't feel obliged to stop you." I let Fer turn that over in its head for a moment.

"Tricky," it says. "But not impossible." And then it smiles, an inhuman expression full of pointy teeth and sharp angles. Ferro looks like it's just seen its own personal god. "Salvation, two blocks ahead."

Oh.

A used car lot.

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

"Because you're a lousy driver?"

"That too." I grab my sketchbook from the bags in the back seat, the only item personal enough that someone might be able to track me from it, and open the cage to let the mice out. They're so tame I can put them in my pockets, though I'm not sure they'll stay. It's as much as I can do right now; Nik would never forgive me if I left them behind. "How do you feel about skipping out on the corporeal plane for a while once we're through with this last job? Swing back to the Marches, find some out-of-the-way Domain to lay low in for a few months. Years. Decades."

"It's a good plan," Ferro says, and drives through the loose rope barrier blocking off the entrance to the car lot. "I could be an enthusiastic supporter of this plan."

"That's what I'm thinking." We step out of the car, and I point out a little blue sedan in one corner. "Leave that one undamaged. We'll need something to work with for the fleeing part."

"Understood." The ethereal smiles at me, nervous and eager. "This might be a good time for you to move away from where you can see me."

"Good idea." I head for the dealership office, while Fer trots off into the mass of parked cars. If I'm lucky, things are about to get messy.

Time to sit back and wait.

A car that drove by when we stopped appears again, drives by a second time. They're unloading somewhere out of sight, now that they know they've lost the element of surprise. Waiting for whoever was at the rendezvous point, or attacking immediately? I listen to my own breathing, and the distant sounds of the city. I wonder what the perky newscaster will say about what we leave behind here. Two dramatic events of destruction in a single night... That's going to make things interesting around here for a while. I don't intend to wait to see it. Celestials converge on dramatic moments of disturbance, and being Renegade means there's no one on either side who wishes me well.

Maybe Penny. But the Seraph's odd that way.

There's a movement in the shadows, something I can't make out, but it's not Fer. I count up the Essence I have left, and wonder if I can afford to sing myself into shadows. It's something to save for emergencies. Well. A more urgent part of this emergency, in either case.

Whispers of disturbance float across the car lot, Songs springing up for use. I wonder how many people they've sent after me. If I'm lucky, some have been diverted to go hunt down Marie, who can handle herself. A Free Lilim does not hire someone to blow up a Game building unless she believes she can deal with the fallout.

Then a rattle of disturbance as Ferro pumps most of its Essence into its best trick: showing every car in shouting distance who's in charge. The ethereal's no god, but for cars, it's as close as anything will come.

Metal screeches as SUVs, sedans, trucks and coupes alike twist themselves in the direction of whatever demons Fer has spotted. A particularly feisty convertible bounds over the top of a van, tires shredding as it claws its way in pursuit of new prey. Someone yelps, as an SUV sheds doors on its way into the quickly-growing heap of metal and glass.

I can hear Ferro giggling from here.

A thin loop, ice-cold, glides over my head and around my neck. (I should've used that Song while I had the chance.) I turn, yank away, try to focus on the person who's holding the other end, and who in my highly informed opinion is using the Ethereal Song of Form, because damn if I can make out more than a vague blur. "Gotcha," he says, smug, and Essence rattles as he tries to yank us both into celestial form.

I've never managed it myself. Never saw much point in trying, being Bound to this vessel, Discord tying me to the corporeal like chains I can't blast through. And now this artifact wrapped around my throat wants to pull me out of this vessel, so the Game can drag me back to Hell. 

I don't _think_ so.

I stifle the urge to taunt back, and save my concentration for trying to burn through the artifact, stretching entropy against an artifact that isn't obliging about the attempt. The snarl of frustration is a warm fuzzy moment in the midst of what's turned out to be a rotten night.

The wash of resonance that hits me and twists my guts is less welcome. Of course. Set a Calabite to catch a Calabite. It makes sense. It's also painful side. But I have my own resonance to fight with, and the loop around my neck finally snaps, leaving me...at a disadvantage, yes, but less of one than before.

There's a lot of shouting going on in the lot, underneath the sounds of metal against metal and shattering glass. But as long as I'm not sure someone's dying, I can ignore them.

Lucky me, they don't want me corporeally dead, which means I find myself tangled on the floor as the Calabite tackles me. I'm fond of my own Force configuration, but there are disadvantages to being about as corporeally weak as a human. "Don't think that's going to help," he says, breath hot in my ear even as I can't quite make out the arms wrapped around mine. "The harder you fight, the worse it'll be. You can't--" He breaks off as I manage to get an elbow into his face.

The sad truth of the matter is that I fight like a human. Against them I can hold my own, but this Gamester knows what he's doing. I can't get up, I can't run, and Ferro's busy dismembering (let's pretend it's a non-fatal dismemberment) people out in the lot.

Another wash of resonance, and my vision turns fuzzy with black spots while I shudder at the pain. One more of those and I'll be sitting in Limbo: for the moment, I can barely move, sprawled out on my back with an unseen Gamester sitting on my chest. "Stupid," he mutters, "like you thought you were getting away." There's a clinking of what are probably Will Shackles. My hands curl up into my jacket of pockets. The mice are gone, Nik's not coming, and Ferro's busy.

He holds down my left wrist with one hand, ever so casually. He knows I can't get up, can't fight back, I can barely stay conscious.

So I pull my right hand out of that pocket, and snap the control bracelet over his wrist just as he gets the Will Shackles onto me.

"Shut up," I say, before he can give any commands. A hiccuped gasp from him, but I'm busy getting out commands as fast as I can. "Now get _off_ me. Don't try to tell me to do anything. Don't leave. Don't tell anyone else this has happened. Don't try to hurt me."

He pulls off me, and I sit up. Don't think I can stand up yet. "Now take this off me." A hesitation he tries to resist, then fingers pry the cold metal off my wrist. I collect the Will Shackles, stuff them in an empty pocket. They're the pricey kind that only the owner can use, which makes them useless to me, but I'm not leaving them near him. "Don't go anywhere. Don't say a damn thing past answering this question unless I tell you otherwise. Answer succinctly. How many more are out there with the ethereal?"

"Two," he says, and packs an ocean of anger into that single syllable.

Fer should be able to handle them. I try to stand up, find I can't. "Unless I ask you a question, say nothing. Only answer the questions I ask you, and quietly. No speaking otherwise." I'm not used to thinking through potential loopholes in commands, and they probably give seminars in it for Gamesters. "If you have Corporeal Healing, use it on me now."

The Song's wearing away, and I can make out the Gamester now. Six inches taller than me, much heavier, wearing the battered sort of clothing our Band's known for. He sneers at me, but a moment later I'm healed enough that I can stand. Barely. "Give me all your Essence," I say, and it's only one more, a tiny addition to my depleted reserves. He glares down at me, shivering faintly from the effort of trying to resist my commands. "Tell me what your current orders are."

The Calabite's mouth opens, snaps shut again as he pulls together enough force of will to resist the command. Well, it would have been _nice_ to know how to push him into dissonance, but I can live without that information. "Fine, then. We'll wait for Fer to finish." I think reassuring thoughts to myself about non-fatal uses of several tons of machinery descending on some hapless demons.

Cold metal of a familiar shape presses against the back of my head. "Luck's run out," Regan says. "Hand over the control."

I sigh, and turn around. "Hi, Regan. Nice to see you again. You're looking good." She is, dressed in sleek black clothing designed for stealth. "Look, can this wait? I'm busy having a lousy night, and there's only so much I can take at one time."

"Hand it over," Regan says. She hasn't lowered the gun, the barrel of which hovers a few inches from a spot right between my eyes. On the other hand, she hasn't shot me.

"What, so he can drag me back to Hell? I don't think so. If you want to shoot me, go ahead. Right now Trauma sounds like a vacation, compared to this night." I nearly slipped and said Limbo, instead of Trauma. I'll blame Elektra for that once I'm not in love with her. "So far I've been set up by someone I liked, resonated by a Habbalite, hit twice by a Calabite, and my ex-girlfriend is now threatening to kill me for the second time in less than a week. Go for it. It would be a _relief_ to end up dead and put this night out of its misery."

Regan stares at me for a long moment. "You've gone completely off the deep end, haven't you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." I'm tired, bloody, in pain, and running out of ideas. Behind me, the sounds of enthusiastic cars die down as Ferro's trick runs its course. "So why aren't you busy playing with new and exciting methods of vehicular homicide?"

"Because you're a sneaky bastard, who was bound to have something planned against a direct assault. So I came around from the back." She brushes a strand of hair that's escaped from its tight ponytail back from her face. "We've worked together often enough for me to know your modus operandi."

"Right. Good point." I sit back down on the ground, because I don't see a lot of point in standing while it hurts this much. "I apologize for not having a better plan to deal with this, but I think I mentioned the Habbalite resonance part."

"Serves you right for letting out a Habbie," Regan says, almost sympathetically. "They do that."

"Believe me, it wasn't on purpose. Would've left her behind if it had been a viable option at that point." I suspect the Gamester behind me is getting annoyed at the chit-chat, but he doesn't have a lot of options, so I look over my shoulder and say, "Sit." He does so. "Don't move unless I tell you to." I turn back to Regan. "You know, I can see why people join up with the Game if they get to do this sort of thing. Ordering people around is fun."

"Of course it is," Regan says. "Why do you think everyone wants to climb up the command ladder?" She folds her arms, gun dangling casually in one hand. "Let's see. I could try to shoot you, but you'd break the gun in my hand. At which point I could try to stab you, but you can now tell _him_ to protect you."

"You do have Corporeal Shields," I say. "Which means you could trap me in with you easily enough--"

"But you already know that too well, so you'd get near him or out of range if I tried to use that Song," Regan points out. "Or you could do what you're doing right now, which is stalling for time until someone comes to help you." She smiles thinly. "How...typical. I think I'm outmaneuvered, and I haven't fired a shot."

"Call it luck," I suggest. "Besides, you may still have a whole backup team ready to drill me full of holes."

"No, they're out Lilim-hunting." Regan taps the gun against her arm as she considers the options. "I could've shot you when your back was turned, before you knew I was there. But you'd consider Trauma a conditional victory."

"Probably would've been the smart thing to do, though."

"Probably." She looks out towards the mass of metal and blood that were recently used cars. "What about that Kyriotate of the Sword you were hanging around with?"

"Went back to a Tether, the job being done. Most angels don't hang around demons without killing them longer than necessary." Two true statements, arranged to suggest a false premise. Maybe I'm not completely brain-dead. "Sorry about that incident back in the alley. It got...enthusiastic."

"Angels are like that, and Swordies more so," Regan says, shrugging it off. "I thought calling the ambulance was a nice touch. Getting my Role stuck in the hospital put me two days behind."

"I was sort of proud of that myself." A scrape of boots on the floor. I shift my position to see Ferro stride forward, bloody and smelling of burning brake fluid. It's smiling widely, and carries a stolen gun in one hand. "Fer, I don't think you've met Regan before. Say hello to the pretty Balseraph."

Fer waves, and crouches down beside me. "The demon behind you--"

"Isn't going anywhere until I tell him to." I pull back one sleeve to show the control bracelet, and Fer giggles. "That's my thought. Here." I take off the controller, pass it over to the ethereal. "Have fun."

"I will," Fer says, sliding the bracelet around its own wrist. "Come along, demon, and don't try to hurt me. We're going to play a game."

The two of them trot back towards broken cars, and Regan allows herself a snicker. "How...cruel. I must admit, I was wondering if you'd gone soft, playing with angels."

"Not yet." I lean back against a convenient wall, resting my head on one arm. "So. Given that you're not going to kill me outright, and you can't drag me back to Hell tonight, let's work out a deal to keep us both happy until next time. I let you walk away from here with all your possessions and pride intact, and you...walk away from here."

"What are you going to do with the Servitor of Asmodeus?" Regan says, glancing over towards where Fer and the Calabite have disappeared. "I can't justify leaving him here entirely--" There's a gunshot, and Regan pauses, shrugs. "Never mind."

"In that case," I say, pulling myself to my feet--and it's a surprise when Regan leans forward to help me up, but I'm not thinking about it too hard right now--"I'd better be off before anyone else shows up. Until next time."

She kisses me, lightly. The flood of memory would wash me away if I had the time to let it. "Next time, I'll arrange to have the upper hand. Even if you aren't concerned with corporeal death."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," I say lightly, and go to find Fer. Playtime is over, and we need to get going.


	15. An Epilogue, In Which I Get My Just Reward

I leave Ferro in the gift shop, and walks up the hill past all the plaques embedded in the ground, pedestals and posts marking the place where some general stood or cavalry unit charged. It's a lovely spring day, just chilly enough to justify a jacket, grassy green, all the trees putting out new leaves.

My pockets still feel empty without a mouse curled up in one. When I put my hands in there to keep them warm, all I can feel is the lighter and pack of cigarettes.

Sean's waiting in a dip past the top of the hill, on a bench by displays explaining how the battle was fought. He's dressed like a college student again, with this scruffy little soul patch that makes him look like a kid. I'd guess he's at least ten times my age, and I know he can beat Regan in a fair fight. Appearances are funny things. "Hey," he says, as I come into view. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old." I sit down beside him at the bench, and try to ignore the itchy feeling that comes from walking into the locus of a Heavenly Tether. If I left my vessel, this place would shred my soul through sheer holiness. "Here a contract, there a contract, everywhere a contract, contract..."

He nods, arms stretched across the back of the bench, and looks up into the birdless blue sky. "Where's Nik?"

"She didn't come along. I imagine she doesn't want to talk to an Archangel." Completely true, all of that, and I haven't heard from Nik since I sent her to the Flowers Tether. I wonder if Judgment caught up with her. I wonder if she's fled to live alone and slide down into dissonance and corruption, if she's back with her own Archangel, if she's soul-killed by cold-eyed Servitors of Judgment who'd call it a mercy to save her from a Fall. She won't come and tell me. I'm not willing to call the Flowers Tether and ask. "Assuming that's what you had in mind."

"It's on the schedule." Sean doesn't seem nervous, but he has this frisson to him that says his Archangel will be here soon. Love and admiration and holy fear, for a creature that can tear apart your Forces in a thought. I remember that, from when I used to worship my Prince as the ultimate role model and my own god.

But this is someone else's god, and I'm only afraid, no thrill to it. "I suppose we should get this over with."

The Mercurian looks at me for a moment, and I hate the pity in his expression. "He's not going to kill you, Leo. If he wanted you dead, there'd be a hundred easier ways that didn't require his attention. You're useful alive."

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't find that reassuring." But I came this far, didn't I?

Sean stands up, and I follow, past the informative displays and further into the locus, towards what I'd guess is the center: a memorial statue, stone to commemorate death. As if it's something to be proud of. I don't even remember who won the battle here, or what it meant, but here's Heaven taking it as a symbol of something holy. I don't know what's supposed to be so bright and pure in people with nothing personal against each other slogging through mud and cold to kill each other off, dying of disease and infection if they're not dead from the battle, shot for desertion if they'd rather not be forced to kill and die. The Archangel of War's views on honor and worth make no more sense to me than the Demon Prince of the War's.

"It won't take long," Sean says. I think that's supposed to be reassuring. I ignore him and stare at the sky, as if some pigeon might come winging its way by, trying to look nonchalant. Maybe Nik's off on her own, working properly on redemption and repentance as an angel should, without a demon around to get her into dissonant situations.

And then there's a man in front of us, vessel that looks like it has the strength I know Sean does, and I'm terrified. I wish I hadn't come. I can live with the Discord, I can deal with shoddy payment for services rendered. I never wanted to step into the presence of an Archangel.

He steps forward, brisk and to the point, and his eyes look right through me. Worse than dealing with other angels, as if he could tell the truth of what I'm only thinking. I couldn't speak if I tried.

Beside me, Sean stands ever so straight, and says, "Father." Nothing more than that, a novel of meaning in a single word.

Michael, Archangel of War, who existed before the Prince who made me was a tiny angel in Heaven not yet dreaming of the Fall, turns his gaze away from me, and it's like a sword's been pulled out of my stomach. He nods to Sean, and the Mercurian moves away. Giving us some privacy. I don't want privacy, I want the reassurance of someone I know, even if it's that annoying, smug, idiot Mercurian.

Eyes of the Archangel back on me. "You've been useful," he says. "Continue to be so."

How am I supposed to respond to that? I stare at him stupidly. So this is what a rabbit feels like when the headlights bear down.

He stretches one hand forward, palm flat against my chest. "This Discord," he says, "makes you less useful." And then his hand's pressed into my chest, I can _feel_ my heart shuddering about. Pulls out, no mark there, but I can see thick black strands wrapped in his hand. They're not solid, not corporeal, like looking at a celestial form on Earth, and they all stretch back from his hand to inside me. It feels like my guts are being pulled out. Metaphysically, they are.

The Archangel looks down at the black goo in his hand, Discord given shape, with the thoughtful expression of a surgeon preparing to excise a tumor.

And pulls.

\--

I remember the moment when the world sprang into existence around me, my own personal symphony wrapping me so softly with whispers of destruction, and I looked up to see the face of my Prince. The first thing I ever saw, the Demon Prince of Fire, his eyes on mine.

Then he looked away, towards a Habbalite who stood nearby, and said, "Here, he's yours." Left to do more important things, left me behind for someone else to own.

When did I give up on trying to get that gaze back?

\--

"Hey," Sean says. "You okay?"

I open eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed. I seem to be lying on the grass. "Ow."

The Mercurian helps me up, one shoulder under mine and then pulling me to my feet as easily as if I were made of paper. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to wake up," he says. "Did he--was it that painful?"

I brush grass off my pants, avoid looking at him. "I don't remember." It probably hurt. My mind was somewhere else at the time. I think about putting a bullet between Sean's eyes, watching him fall back in the blood, and it doesn't bother me at all. The Discord is gone. "I ought to go."

"If you're not feeling up to it yet--"

"I'm fine." I pull away from the Mercurian, start back towards the gift shop. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I don't have an Archangel mucking about with my personal Forces every day, and I'd like to go forget about it now."

He won't leave me be. I stifle the juvenile desire to run. He'd be able to keep up, anyway. "We kept our end of the bargain," he says, gently. As if I might, ha, break and run, if he's too hard on me right now.

"So did I. I think that puts us back on equal footing."

"We have a job for you."

"One that's only going to work now that I'm free of that bit of Discord."

Sean shrugs, doesn't deny it. "Think you're up to dealing with that now? It can wait a few days, if need be."

I take slow, even breaths. I think I've stopped shaking. "I can take care of it now. It'll take my mind off things." Like how standing in front of Michael was like standing in front of Belial. "But after that, I'm going to take a vacation."

"You could probably use one."

I laugh. "Sean, you have no idea."


End file.
